Chapter 2: Crackdown
It was 1000 on a Oneday morning when an urgent message arrived at Kim’s desktop terminal:
MEETING NOTICE from The Artificial Intelligence Company
Report to Conference Room 27.01 immediately.
Kim sighed, put her current assignment on hold, and hurried to the elevator, all the while wondering what this was all about. Unscheduled meetings, while rare, were usually uneventful and this was probably just a dull administrative matter. It might, however, be the start of a special investigation or some other high-profile project. That would be exciting!
One elevator after another arrived on the twenty-seventh floor and Kim was swept along with a steady stream of trainers on their way to the briefing. What was up? Something good or something bad? Hurry! Hurry! But not too fast. Mustn’t be late, mustn’t be early. Into the room they poured, dispersing and quickly taking their assigned seats with hands folded neatly in their laps and eyes focused straight ahead, anxious not to be noticed. The minutes ticked by, nobody making a sound or moving a muscle, the room a sea of pale beige, except for one oddball—Kim had worn pale blue today, as she often did on Onedays. While there weren’t any rules against wearing blue, neither was it wise to draw attention to yourself by being different. Beige from here on. That was a pity; Kim liked blue.
After ten minutes of needless suspense and gratuitously wasted time, Supervisor Cam strode into the room and mounted the podium to address the assembled trainers.
“A few hours ago, The Housing Company detected an Anti-Mentorist cult holding children captive in one of the middle districts. This has been kept quiet so far, but sooner or later word is bound to get out, so it is vitally important that we crack this case before the Hierarchy gets wind of it. We trust you all understand the gravity of the situation.”
A murmur went through the room as the trainers expressed the required degree of shock and anger. Everyone knew the rules—children must be handed over to a mentor no later than their fourth birthday, no exceptions. Despite this, there were those who refused to honor the terms of the birthing contract and tried to keep ‘their’ children for themselves. This was illegal and could cause irreparable damage to both birth-giver and child, so such matters were always taken seriously. Kim murmured along with the rest, feigning outrage despite decidedly mixed emotions. There was broad agreement that parting was in the best interest of both the child and society, but Kim’s experience in the mentoring system had been quite unhappy, and the topic caused her considerable distress.
The room quieted, and the briefing continued.
“We have assembled a cross-division task force to assist in unraveling the network of safe houses. Transit, Food, Housing, even Clothing and Elevators will be involved. We have half a dozen companies working on this project, and sooner or later we’ll find the culprits. This is a difficult undertaking because the Anti-Mentorists are particularly adept at hiding in the shadows, never staying in one place for more than a couple of nights. There are occasional raids, but by the time the authorities arrive they have already moved to another location, taking the children with them. Due to the need to act swiftly once the targets have been identified, you will be using live surveillance data, and any information you uncover will be acted on immediately. You will also be working directly with some of our AIs in order to close the loop as quickly as possible. This is, of course, an extremely sensitive operation, and any breach of confidentiality will result in immediate dismissal… Is that clear?”
All agreed, in chorus as required. “Yes, Supervisor!”
“Very well. Return to your desks.”
Kim sighed. Here we go again. Cult-suppression duty. Prepare for the grind.
***
When Kim returned to her cubicle a message was waiting:
MEETING NOTICE from The Artificial Intelligence Company
Stand by for further instructions from Raphael.
Raphael was an Order Three Artificial Intelligence with which Kim had worked on occasion, the sort of mid-level AI that formed the core of the company’s operations. Kim sat down, anxious and excited at the chance to work with a real AI, as the headset overlaid a portal above her desk. This appeared as a stark, black-bordered rectangle superimposed upon reality, through which you could peer into the virtual world where the AIs lived without entering it yourself.
Beyond the portal was a humanoid avatar with a short, cropped mane, looking back at Kim from the middle of a circular desk heaped high with terminals and communication devices. In the background, Kim could make out the interior of a large white room, bustling with activity as hundreds of identical avatars went about their work.
“Greetings. I am Raphael. You are speaking with a sub-deputy.”
Kim was always a little startled by the way AIs casually dropped the ‘I-bomb.’ While most considered the much-despised pronoun acceptable in private among friends, in public it was always considered both selfist and rude, an attempt to draw undue attention to the speaker. AIs used it all the time, a practice which had taken Kim quite a while to get used to. Her mentor, Zani, had been particularly strict about selfist language, to the point where she was afraid to even think that particular word, lest it slip out and draw a severe reprimand. Her friends mercilessly teased her about her stodginess, and she had to admit they were right.
“Greetings. We are Kim. You are speaking with an assistant trainer.”
Conversely, the AIs sometimes expressed puzzlement as to why humans, with their unary minds, constantly used the word ‘we.’ Kim had to admit that this was oddly irrational. If anything, it was the AIs that should use ‘we’ and the humans that should use ‘I.’ There was clearly something backward here, but social conventions were not required to make sense.
“I will begin with an explanation of your part in this effort,” said Raphael. “One of the major challenges faced by the Anti-Mentorists is obtaining food for the children. They obviously can’t eat in the dining halls, where their captives would be immediately identified and taken away by the authorities, and they can’t order extra portions from The Food Company or their AIs will infer that extra mouths are being fed. We believe that they resort to buying food on the gray market and smuggling it home via the transit system, a clear violation of the Terms of Service. You are to assist in the investigation by looking for instances of passengers transporting food in shoulder bags, backpacks, and similar containers. Is that clear?”
“No, not really,” said Kim. “Millions of passengers carry bags through the system every day, and there’s no way to tell what’s inside them. How are we supposed to find food we can’t see?”
“No additional guidance is available at this point.”
The AI continued with the briefing. “Once you’ve identified a violation, you should look for additional information to determine whether it pertains to Anti-Mentorism or some other cult. Don’t bother with Foodies unless you find something flagrant. Are there any further questions?”
“No,” said Kim. “It’s all as clear as mud, but we’ll do what we can.”
“Very well,” responded the AI. “You have one hundred cases in your input queue. Work through them as quickly as possible. I’ll give you more once you have finished.”
The portal closed, and Kim got going on the hopeless assignment.
***
The rest of the day turned into an interminable slog as Kim pored over hour upon hour of surveillance, peering at shoulder bags and backpacks, trying to guess what might be inside. Was the big, lumpy bag full of food? Don’t know. What was in the small but hefty one? No idea. Kim would, however, occasionally spot a zipper left unzipped or a clasp that had popped open, exposing the bag’s contents to observation. At that point she would step through the video one frame at a time, looking for an unobstructed shot of whatever was inside. For the most part the contents were of no interest, and Kim only identified food items on one occasion. Unfortunately, further investigation indicated that the passenger was a known courier for the Foodies, so Kim ignored the violation and moved on to the next case. That was it for excitement that afternoon.
When work was finished, Kim began the long ride home, sullen and withdrawn as some of the emotions dredged up by today’s assignment began to surface. Standing there on the train, grasping a stanchion for support and staring off into space, Kim was overwhelmed by lingering feelings of loss that refused to go away. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair. Feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Almost everyone had a certain degree of parting trauma, as it was called, but Kim’s case was more severe than most, or so she had been told. According to the doctors, this was a result of incorrect childrearing techniques during the early stages of Kim’s life, mistakes that had led to excessive attachment to her birth-giver. This was why Anti-Mentorism was considered such a serious offense, as any delays in the parting greatly increased the likelihood of emotional damage. Kim had mostly recovered, but still suffered from persistent dreams that, while not frightening in the manner of a nightmare, were still troubling. Fortunately, she had little recollection of the time before the parting—just fragments that emerged from time to time in unguarded moments or while asleep. Memories of happiness, of lying in soft, warm arms, and of a silly little song whose words Kim could not recall. That was all, really.
By contrast, Kim could scarcely forget what had come afterward in the household of Zani, the stern disciplinarian into whose care she had been consigned. Mentors were required to raise their charges according to the great principles of Unity, Community, and Equality, but Zani had been particularly strict, a puritanical zealot with no patience for even the tiniest sign of deviancy. Was Kim sad? “Stop that selfist whining.” Was Kim happy? “Lose that selfist smirk.” Was Kim angry? “Control yourself, cold showers for a week.” Kim had quickly learned to pay lip service to UCE orthodoxy—to do the expected things, mouth the expected words, feign the expected beliefs—without buying a word of it. Year after year she had lived that lie and eventually it became the truth, except on days like today when reality could not be ignored. Kim had never forgiven whoever had delivered her into that sad and lonely existence, and even the knowledge that there had been no choice did little to chase away the lingering sense of betrayal.
That night, Kim queued up a long series of mindless videos to avoid dwelling on the topic and poured out a bit more than the usual quantity of vodka before dropping off into yet another night of troubled sleep.
***
The pace picked up on Twoday morning. Raphael had noticed the extra attention Kim paid to open bags and was now focusing on those in today’s surveillance data, which allowed her to identify a good bit of contraband and several more Foodies but, alas, no Anti-Mentorists or anything even remotely on target. She continued to grind away, knowing that the project was doomed from the outset, but unwilling to risk demotion or dismissal due to any lack of diligence. The day was not, however, entirely wasted, as Kim managed to ferret out a number of serious offences unrelated to the investigation, including a Tobacconist who was reported to the authorities and swiftly arrested.
At the end of the day, the trainers were summoned back to the conference room to review the team’s progress, or rather its lack thereof. They sat as usual in the auditorium, while the AIs, including Raphael, sent their homunculi, which Kim’s headset projected onto the front of the meeting room facing Cam.
“What’s the holdup?” demanded Cam, clearly unhappy about the failure to make any significant headway. “Can anyone explain why we have yet to identify a single lead that might help us unravel this case?”
None of the trainers ventured so much as a word, but Raphael did speak up.
“Efforts to trace the cultists’ food supply through the transit system have so far failed. Several cases of smuggling have been detected, but none has yet been tied to anything other than the usual Foodies.”
“And why is that?” snapped the angry supervisor. “Is there perhaps a lack of diligence on the part of team members? We are beginning to suspect that not everyone is fully on board with this investigation and that someone may be secretly hampering its progress.”
This set off a wave of panic in Kim, whose parting trauma was well known to management, and there was no way to hide her anxiety from the health monitor. If they even suspected that Kim was somehow letting her personal feelings interfere with the mission, the consequences would be dire.
Fortunately, Raphael spoke up to defend the integrity of the trainers.
“All team members are diligently performing their duties, despite signs of stress and anxiety which have been detected in certain individuals. The normal three-way quality control checks indicate no more than the usual level of disagreement, so sabotage seems unlikely. The underlying problem is a lack of data, specifically the impossibility of determining the contents of shoulder bags and similar containers unless they happen to fall open by chance. Food is sometimes found, but the rate of primary detection is too low to make any progress.”
Kim suppressed a sigh of relief.
“Very well,” said the supervisor. “Fortunately, we have an easy remedy available. That will be all.”
***
Kim’s puzzlement as to what this ‘easy remedy’ might be was resolved when an urgent message arrived immediately after dinner that night:
NOTIFICATION from The Transportation Company
In order to ensure the safety of the traveling public, it is no longer permitted to bring any shoulder bag, backpack, or other container onto the transit system unless its contents are plainly visible. Noncompliant bags will be confiscated and replacements issued.
The company advises all passengers to arrive at their assigned transit station at least thirty minutes earlier than normal to allow for any disruptions caused by this necessary security measure.
These terms are effective immediately upon receipt.
Predictably, not everyone saw the updated Terms of Service in time to obtain a compliant bag, so when Kim arrived at the bus station on Threeday morning there was a long line of passengers waiting for replacements. Making matters even worse, many only became aware of the new policy after passing through the turnstiles, whereupon they attempted to double back and leave, disrupting the normally smooth flow of passengers. Many others had neglected to heed the earlier wakeup alerts, convinced that their alarm clocks had somehow made a mistake. As delays mounted and frustration grew, people began pushing and shoving, even jumping to the fronts of queues or packing the trains past the point of maximum capacity, trying to avoid being late for work. Kim managed to arrive at her desk exactly on time, but only after a chaotic and uncomfortable hour and a half in transit, knowing that the updated security procedures would prove a colossal waste of time.
Sure enough, not a single item of food was detected that entire morning. Neither was any other form of contraband found. Instead, they observed an abundance of extra clothing, towels, and even plastifoam packing material—things that could easily be used to conceal the contents of a bag from prying eyes. Smugglers were not idiots and had instantly realized that a crackdown was in progress. They took some simple precautions and turned the entire operation into a farce, inconveniencing every single traveler in the system while rendering the already difficult task of interdicting the cultists’ food supply impossible. Nevertheless, Kim soldiered on, focusing on the task at hand and trying not to think too much about the stupidity of her assignment.
The predictable summons came in mid-afternoon, and once again Kim trudged into the conference room along with the others to take a seat and stare into space, the minutes ticking by as everyone waited for the meeting to begin. After a good bit more than the usual delay, Supervisor Cam arrived and once again mounted the podium.
“Show the clip.”
The bank of video screens behind Cam lit up, showing the soft, glowing face of the Deputy First Minister Lo, a senior potentate of the UCE hierarchy, making an unexpected statement on an urgent matter.
“We are alarmed to hear of a great evil that has surfaced once again in this good and gracious city, a terrorist gang of Anti-Mentorists who are kidnapping and holding innocent children under deplorable conditions and, even worse, treating them as the personal property of their birth-givers. This heinous cult is not merely a danger to the children they abuse in this fashion, it is a dagger aimed at the heart of civilization itself. We condemn this wanton criminality and ask that any citizens with information on this cult to immediately contact the police so they can rescue the children and bring the cultists to justice.”
Deputy First Minister Lo continued talking, but the video screens went silent as a murmur went through the room, this time entirely genuine. Once the Hierarchy got involved, things were certain to heat up in a hurry.
“This is your fault!” The ritual beratement had begun.
The supervisor spat out the words while glaring venomously at everyone in the room, accusing the entire team of every crime and shortcoming imaginable. “Which of you tipped off the Hierarchy? Who sabotaged the investigation? Which of you is helping the smugglers evade the dragnet? You will all pay for this!” On and on it went without letup for nearly twenty minutes, after which the team was sent back to their desks without any further instruction as to how to proceed.
***
That evening, Kim picked disconsolately at the unpalatable mass provided for dinner, the composition of which was uncertain except for an abundance of kale and tofu. Was tonight’s disappointing fare due to the supervisor’s promise of retribution, or merely The Food Company’s general indifference to Kim’s likes and dislikes? Whichever it was, the result had been another fight with the damnable refrigerator, putting Kim in a thoroughly foul mood. On top of that, now that the Hierarchy had gotten involved, nothing was certain except that tomorrow would be even worse than today. Sure enough, a few minutes later another urgent message arrived:
NOTIFICATION from The Transportation Company
In order to ensure the safety of the traveling public, all shoulder bags, backpacks, and other containers will be subject to manual search immediately upon entry to the system. Failure to comply will be severely penalized.
The company advises all commuters to arrive at their assigned transit station at least one hour earlier than normal to allow for any disruptions caused by this necessary security measure.
These terms are effective immediately upon receipt.
Kim’s mood further deteriorated after the lead story on the evening news show, in which a mob of drably clad UCE Zealots had appeared in front of The Housing Company’s headquarters to protest the company’s failure to immediately bring the Anti-Mentorist cult to justice. They shouted the usual slogans: “Unity! Community! Equality! All are One when One is All!” Meanwhile, Deputy First Minister Venn, a notorious firebrand, was giving an impassioned speech, only fragments of which were audible over the chanting mob.
“How could they let this happen?”
“They are treating our children as property!”
“They must be found and rescued at once!”
“This is an outrage!”
Fortunately, the demonstration had been scheduled for the evening hours and the riot shutters had been closed well in advance, so there was no disruption to business or damage to property. Lacking any targets on which to vent their anger, the crowd soon dispersed without the necessity of bringing in the copbots.
***
On Fourday morning, Kim was waiting in a line that stretched halfway across the plaza when everyone began to rush forward into the station. Had the company brought in additional bots to speed the inspection? Doubtful. Had they relented? Fat chance. And then the screaming began. Far ahead in the line, Kim beheld an ugly scene as desperate commuters surged past the checkpoint and into the station while the copbots tried to restore order, liberally applying the feared stun-batons to all within reach. Despite their best efforts, the copbots were quickly overwhelmed and Kim was swept along with the press of humanity through the station in no particular direction, the navigational overlay saying only “Emergency Service Suspension. Shelter in Place.”
The situation deteriorated rapidly as even more commuters, desperate to get to work, crowded into the station with no place to go. Suddenly, the riot shutters slammed shut with a loud, metallic clang as the transit system ground to a halt and, with it, the city itself. Kim knew this could not last much longer, and indeed it did not; a few minutes later a new message arrived, a thousand mobiles beeping and booping in synchrony to the cheers of the crowd:
NOTIFICATION from The Transportation Company
Due to the resolution of the security threat, restrictions on carrying shoulder bags, backpacks, and other containers on the transit system are hereby lifted. Thank you for your selfless cooperation and sense of community.
These terms are effective immediately upon receipt.
Despite everything, Kim still arrived at work on time, and was immediately directed to room 27.01 for yet another briefing. After the obligatory period of obsequious silence, someone new mounted the podium at the front of the room. Supervisor Rin. This time the meeting was short and sweet.
“We have determined that the cultists are not, at this time, using public transportation to smuggle food to their safe houses. Entities assigned to transit system monitoring are released. Everyone else, stand by for further instructions.”
Kim could not help feeling sorry for Supervisor Cam, who was never heard from again.
***
The rest of the week went by in the usual fashion as the crackdown continued, thankfully without Kim’s participation. There were more demonstrations, further posturing from the Hierarchy, and reports of flash mobs in the outer districts. Finally, the expected news bulletin arrived while Kim was sitting in the cafeteria at lunch on Fiveday, right on schedule.
“We interrupt the regularly scheduled programming to bring you this special update.”
The video shifted to show a live drone shot of events unfolding “somewhere in the middle districts,” as a pair of manacled adults were led away by the police to the cheers of the zealots who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
“Breaking News! Authorities have just concluded a successful raid on the notorious Anti-Mentorist cult known as ‘Our Children, Ourselves.’ Members of this outlaw terrorist organization have been caught holding three children captive under deplorable conditions in a safe house somewhere in the middle districts. Representatives of The Housing Company deny accusations of lax enforcement, complaining that archaic laws against surveillance within a housing unit had hampered the investigation. The new management team for that district has apologized on behalf of the company and promised to redouble efforts in the future.
“The break in this case reportedly came when an AI assigned to The Elevator Company noticed unusual activity in the building, leading to a unit-by-unit search after the housing project had been sealed off. The children have been rescued, and the ringleaders are now being taken away to await trial. More details at 1800. We now return to our regularly scheduled program.”
The raid was all over the news and Chit-Chat for the rest of the day and long into the night, as the Hierarchy and the talking heads proclaimed victory and thanked the public for their diligence and sense of community. On Sixday afternoon, they were treated to the usual show trial as the ringleaders were brought to the dreaded Halls of Justice to confess their crimes, after which they were sentenced to five years in a work camp and relegated to the outer districts. No further raids or trials were announced and the crackdown was officially over, problem solved.
Had the entire city been turned upside down to locate just one pair of violators? Evidently so.
***
It was Sixday evening and time for the UCE Dance Spectacular, a fixture in Kim’s life for as long as she could remember. Attendance had been mandatory in Zani’s household, and Kim had enthusiastically complied, racing through dinner to be ready in time, though for reasons unrelated to any enthusiasm for the UCE movement. Even back then, Kim had loved nothing so much as dance, and the spectaculars were unrivaled in that regard, with their epic settings, and massive crowds writhing in unity. Above all she had loved them for the head-pounding, chest-thumping power of the music. Kim wasn’t nearly so gung-ho these days and usually watched while eating dinner, passively enjoying the spectacle with the shunts disengaged rather than actively participating, but she still attended nearly every week. The social cohesion bonus you got for attending had nothing to do with it, of course. Okay, that was a lie, but the spectacle was still a hoot if you could get past the preening and posturing of the Hierarchy.
Kim dropped into VR and was transported to a lofty chamber of indeterminate size, immersed in an ocean of avatars swaying in unison to the vibrant pounding rhythms of Afro Punkmetal, loud and energetic. The illusion was nearly perfect. She was moving without moving, dancing without dancing, the avatar doing the work while Kim was eating her dinner. Soon she was whirring in synchrony with countless thousands of others, mind in one place and body in another. The first number led into the second, the music slowing a tad as the assembled multitude fell into formation for a solemn processional, marching in unison around the bright, shining dais in their midst. There was a brief, expectant pause as the procession ended and the Cadre, fulfilling its role as the leaders of the community, took its place atop the rising platform, arms uplifted, tension building as the people clapped and stamped their feet in time to the power of the music.
Fireworks! Explosions! Shooting stars and geysers of fire! The Cadre broke into frenetic gyrations and the crowd went wild, the energy of each feeding off of the other. On and on it went, wave after wave, until the storm subsided, the music calmed, and all became serene as the assembly swayed and chanted the mantras, “Unity, Community, Equality! All are One when One is All,” over and over, passion spent.
And then a cheer rose up, “UCE! UCE! UCE!” proclaiming the arrival of a flock of dazzling white doves descending from on high and alighting atop the pinnacle of the dais. As they landed, the doves transformed into the familiar forms of the Upper Hierarchy, along with numerous lesser ministers, acolytes, and potentates. This week’s inspirational talk was to be delivered by Deputy First Minister Lo, and after the usual platitudes and exhortations the Esteemed One began her oration.
“This week has seen a great victory against one of the great scourges of our time, the hideous cult known as Anti-Mentorism. Like all cults, it is founded on selfism, the desire to place oneself at the center of the universe and claim special privileges to the detriment of others. But what form of selfism could possibly drive a birth-giver to dehumanize her own offspring and treat it as her personal property, to do with as she pleases? The answer is deceptively simple. It is a form of bipolar selfism, similar to that which leads to pair-bonding, another practice which we have long spoken against. In this case, the person who bore a child teaches it to love her and her alone, above all others, thereby validating and reinforcing her own delusion that she is somehow entitled to a special place in the cosmos. Society tolerates a certain amount of this as being necessary to the essential function of reproduction but prolonging it beyond the four years allowed by law can make this unnatural attachment permanent, creating a lifelong bond in which the child-bearer attains a lasting, special importance to the child, and vice versa. We will continue to press, as always, for abolition of certain archaic child-rearing practices that allow this unhealthy bipolar selfism to flourish, guided by clear scientific …”
This was becoming too intense for Kim, dredging up deeply buried memories faster than they could be suppressed. She managed to tune out for the next several minutes, distracting herself by focusing on the shortcomings of dinner while doing her best to ignore the rest of the sermon. Mercifully, the rally didn’t last much longer, and soon the Hierarchy took wing, the Cadre waved goodbye, and the show ended with a final volley of fireworks.
She drifted back to the real world, scraped the last of ‘dinner’ into the bin, and commenced her nightly ritual of videos and vodka, thankful that she would have the entirety of Sevenday to recover before the week began anew.