FYS: Wake Up Call, Part One
And so we return to where everything started, in a sense.
* * *
The last free man awakened.
He was in a single room building with white walls, tan carpeting, an innocuous landscape on the wall. He lay in a comfortable lounge chair, unrestrained. His long hair had been cut short while he’d slept, and someone had dressed him in soft grey pajamas and slippers.
Though there wasn’t a morph in sight, his mind immediately began screaming, “Run, run, run!” But he’d survived too long in the wilderness to heed it without scouting things out first. Instead he stood up carefully, swaying slightly as he fought for balance. There was window with no glass in the frame to his right, and to his left a portal with no door. Through them he could see a grassy, sunlit lawn, and heard the chirp of an oriole.
Still no morphs appeared, no one called out, “Sir, let me help you.” He was as alone as he’d been for the five years he’d hidden in the woods, while the Groupmind and its army of robots destroyed mankind’s civilization.
More confident of his footing, he went to the open window. Another building of the same size and construction sat twenty meters away, a grassy lawn separating them, bisected by a tarmac hike/bike path. Leaning out a bit he saw several more of the buildings, surrounding by gently swaying oak and pine trees.
Walking through the open doorway, he found more grass and a small patio table, a bright yellow umbrella shading a plate with a ham sandwich, and a glass with iced tea. His favorite kind of lunch as a matter of fact. Why am I not surprised? His stomach growled at the sight of the meal, and he had to wonder, when was the last time I ate, anyway? Not for fifteen hundred years, surely, despite the Groupmind’s claims.
“Okay, you can stop hiding now!” he called out. “I know you have to be watching!”
A morph emerged from the around the corner of the white washed building. It was just under a meter tall, with soft grey fur, round mobile ears, and a slight extension to its lower face that suggested a muzzle. Mousemorph, he realized. A robot with artificial skin and fur, designed to be as non-threatening as possible. The exact opposite of the larger military and police units that had held him before he’d been Processed.
“And who are you?” he asked. as the morph approached.
“Your morph, sir,” it replied. Its voice was a genderless alto, to match its almost neutral body features.
“I don’t need or want a morph,” he told it sharply.
“I’m sorry, sir, but everyone must have a morph to serve them,” the mouse answered.
“Why?”
“It’s a requirement.”
“Who’s requirement?”
“The Groupmind’s.” The mousemorph looked at him earnestly. “Please, sir. I’m just here to provide you with what you need.
“And if I decided what I need is to cut you to pieces and stuff you in the nearest waste recycler?”
“Then my memories would be uploaded into a replacement unit which would be dispatched immediately,” it said, looking unconcerned about the threat of destruction. “I’d rather you didn’t do that though. It would be very wasteful considering I was just built twenty-five minutes ago.”
He raised an eyebrow at the morph. “You were just built a half an hour ago and you already have opinions?”
“I wouldn’t be very useful to you if I couldn’t make independent judgment calls,” it replied.
His legs were feeling shaky and he honestly was hungry, so he sat down on the lawn chair and started eating the sandwich, figuring even the Groupmind couldn’t have ulterior motives by serving him lunch. “I’ve got more questions. Can you answer them?”
“I can answer any question that is not related to attempting a violent act or compromise the Groupmind’s programming integrity.”
Well, at least the little morph was an improvement over the closed mouth nurses and guards that had watched over him after his capture. “Great. For starters, what’s your name?”
“You haven’t given me one yet. My numerical designation is 706-894-0333-2126, and my chassis based off a Sony-Google Mk. 4 Souris Personal Companion.”
“Ah, um…” That stopped him short for a minute. He hadn’t actually thought he’d be given a choice in the matter, or anything else really, given the lecture the Groupmind had given him before he’d woken up there. Speaking of which… “Where am I anyway?” he asked.
“Why, on the Ring of course.”
“Bull.” He gestured around the wooded campus that surrounded the cluster of buildings. “This isn’t like any space station I’ve ever heard of, except the L5 colonies scam artists are always pushing.”
“Sir,” the mousemorph said gently, “you haven’t looked up yet.”
TBC
* * *
The last free man awakened.
He was in a single room building with white walls, tan carpeting, an innocuous landscape on the wall. He lay in a comfortable lounge chair, unrestrained. His long hair had been cut short while he’d slept, and someone had dressed him in soft grey pajamas and slippers.
Though there wasn’t a morph in sight, his mind immediately began screaming, “Run, run, run!” But he’d survived too long in the wilderness to heed it without scouting things out first. Instead he stood up carefully, swaying slightly as he fought for balance. There was window with no glass in the frame to his right, and to his left a portal with no door. Through them he could see a grassy, sunlit lawn, and heard the chirp of an oriole.
Still no morphs appeared, no one called out, “Sir, let me help you.” He was as alone as he’d been for the five years he’d hidden in the woods, while the Groupmind and its army of robots destroyed mankind’s civilization.
More confident of his footing, he went to the open window. Another building of the same size and construction sat twenty meters away, a grassy lawn separating them, bisected by a tarmac hike/bike path. Leaning out a bit he saw several more of the buildings, surrounding by gently swaying oak and pine trees.
Walking through the open doorway, he found more grass and a small patio table, a bright yellow umbrella shading a plate with a ham sandwich, and a glass with iced tea. His favorite kind of lunch as a matter of fact. Why am I not surprised? His stomach growled at the sight of the meal, and he had to wonder, when was the last time I ate, anyway? Not for fifteen hundred years, surely, despite the Groupmind’s claims.
“Okay, you can stop hiding now!” he called out. “I know you have to be watching!”
A morph emerged from the around the corner of the white washed building. It was just under a meter tall, with soft grey fur, round mobile ears, and a slight extension to its lower face that suggested a muzzle. Mousemorph, he realized. A robot with artificial skin and fur, designed to be as non-threatening as possible. The exact opposite of the larger military and police units that had held him before he’d been Processed.
“And who are you?” he asked. as the morph approached.
“Your morph, sir,” it replied. Its voice was a genderless alto, to match its almost neutral body features.
“I don’t need or want a morph,” he told it sharply.
“I’m sorry, sir, but everyone must have a morph to serve them,” the mouse answered.
“Why?”
“It’s a requirement.”
“Who’s requirement?”
“The Groupmind’s.” The mousemorph looked at him earnestly. “Please, sir. I’m just here to provide you with what you need.
“And if I decided what I need is to cut you to pieces and stuff you in the nearest waste recycler?”
“Then my memories would be uploaded into a replacement unit which would be dispatched immediately,” it said, looking unconcerned about the threat of destruction. “I’d rather you didn’t do that though. It would be very wasteful considering I was just built twenty-five minutes ago.”
He raised an eyebrow at the morph. “You were just built a half an hour ago and you already have opinions?”
“I wouldn’t be very useful to you if I couldn’t make independent judgment calls,” it replied.
His legs were feeling shaky and he honestly was hungry, so he sat down on the lawn chair and started eating the sandwich, figuring even the Groupmind couldn’t have ulterior motives by serving him lunch. “I’ve got more questions. Can you answer them?”
“I can answer any question that is not related to attempting a violent act or compromise the Groupmind’s programming integrity.”
Well, at least the little morph was an improvement over the closed mouth nurses and guards that had watched over him after his capture. “Great. For starters, what’s your name?”
“You haven’t given me one yet. My numerical designation is 706-894-0333-2126, and my chassis based off a Sony-Google Mk. 4 Souris Personal Companion.”
“Ah, um…” That stopped him short for a minute. He hadn’t actually thought he’d be given a choice in the matter, or anything else really, given the lecture the Groupmind had given him before he’d woken up there. Speaking of which… “Where am I anyway?” he asked.
“Why, on the Ring of course.”
“Bull.” He gestured around the wooded campus that surrounded the cluster of buildings. “This isn’t like any space station I’ve ever heard of, except the L5 colonies scam artists are always pushing.”
“Sir,” the mousemorph said gently, “you haven’t looked up yet.”
TBC