STINC #1 — The one about brain hijacking
This is the first in a series of “first chapters” I call, Shit Things I Never Completed. You can find out more about them here.
I was surprised the first time I took an autocab into the centre of San Francisco. Not because I expected more from it, but because I guess I thought more would be expected of me. Having only tapped my watch and spoken a destination, a tone and a faint glow were all that let me know my order had been placed. A minute or two later and one of the many cabs whizzing past pulled over and came to a stop with a hiss.
The first thing that struck me was the fact that when the cab stopped to pick me up, there was already another passenger in it. At first, I thought perhaps she wanted to get out before I got in. My obvious confusion must’ve been a dead giveaway as she politely gestured to the seat opposite. Perhaps she was just being nice, although possibly she just didn’t want me to choose the seat on her side.
Quite unsure of the etiquette of the situation I tilted my hat in thanks, stepped in, and took my seat. As soon as I was seated, my presence was detected and a seatbelt automatically applied. An inaudible gasp left my lips as the car pulled away from the kerb and out into traffic.
I suppose I should be used to this sort of technology, but here I was still a little unsure what to do with myself. It felt a little bit like when I’d been to Japan for the first time, sitting on the passenger side of a right-hand drive car (when we still drove), having to constantly resist the urge to jump on the non-existent brake.
Adding to the sense of hopeless inadequacy was the fact that I’d found myself face to face with a complete stranger. Ordinarily, I’d not be uncomfortable in such a situation, but the little space available made the cab a touch more intimate than I’d have preferred. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I should engage in conversation, stare out the window, or pretend to be entertained by the holovid playing on the console between us. The only thing I did conclude at that moment was that I really should get out more.
As the autocab made its way through the suburbs towards the centre of town, I began to marvel at the sheer scale of construction taking place in the outer suburbs. I could recall a time when new buildings seemed to be such a rarity. Eventually, the urban sprawl finally met up with the ability for the city to support it. In hindsight, it seemed obvious that there had to be an end to the horizontal expansion, eventually exchanged in favour of going vertical.
It was around the same time that we humans finally realised that open space, rocks and minerals aren’t the only things finite in supply. The climate changed and farmable land that we hadn’t built houses on was suddenly scarce. It was only a matter of time before humans became scarce along with it! It was a terrible time. But like wars of old, and civilisations past, we’d managed to move on and allow those times to fade into the novels and holovids of tomorrow. We learned the hard way that Mother Nature will find balance, whether we like it or not.
The thing that still surprised me, after all that time, was how long it took for the population at large to see what was happening and respond. I suppose one should expect a certain amount of dithering and duelling of words before any action is taken, especially when money is involved. But I was certainly amazed at the apathy shown by some of the world’s wealthier nations in the face of what was, even early on, a clearly global problem. Even as a young boy, it seemed plain as day. But, as they say, what goes around comes around.
America and Europe both suffered in their own ways as their success at avoiding catastrophe ultimately became their own undoing. As my father would always say, ‘If you play with fire, you can expect to get burned’, and didn’t we all burn. Prosperity, of course, leads to growth, but with finite resources, all growth as an upper limit. It that just meant the “first world” had further to fall once the food and water ran out. We imagined we could just continue to invent our way out of a changing climate, but we couldn’t. Eventually, the reality of the situation forced action.
But with financial and ecological crises somewhat behind us, and with droughts, floods and food shortages at least partially on the improve, things seemed finally on the up. Many would say the world was in a much better place now than it was a hundred years ago. We, as a species, had to learn some tough lessons. “You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette“, they used to say. Such an antiquated phrase! Imagine eating animal products today? Laughable. I remember seeing videos of me as a child, making choo-choo noises while playing with toy trains, even though steam trains had vanished a century earlier. I suppose it should be expected that egg related proverbs stick around for an equal amount of time.
I glanced away from the window and briefly past the playing holovid to my silent co-passenger, lost in her own thoughts, looking out the opposite window. 15 minutes into the trip and neither of us had spoken a word. I wondered if we’d all gotten bad at interacting with other humans, or if it were just me. Perhaps I really do need to get out more.
No sooner had I finished the thought, than the autocab made a swerve to the right, slowed suddenly and came to a stop with that now familiar hiss. With a grim smile, my fellow passenger collected her bag, nodded her head and stepped from the cab. The door promptly closed and the autocab quickly continued its journey. No doubt some wretched computer somewhere had us on a to-the-second schedule which included dropping me off downtown before making its way to collect its next equally joyless guest.
As I glanced through the clear ceiling at the skyline, I was once again amazed by the progress made in this town in only a few short decades. Construction automation had certainly helped, along with recycling and engineering automation. I wondered how long it’d be before we stopped calling automated construction, and just started calling it construction again. We long since stopped calling automated farming “automated”, perhaps more so because it no longer resembled farming than no longer being called automated. Manufacturing is probably a better term, although the notion is somewhat less romantic than the historical vision of the farmer in his field. Necessity is the mother of invention as they say. Another proverb, another bite-sized thought carefully constructed by man for ease of digestion and minimum contemplation.
Interrupting my thoughts, the autocab once again lurched to the right. It hissed at me as it came to a stop, and spat me out on to the street before shutting itself behind me and making a silent getaway. I’m certain it wouldn’t have taken a programmer too much more time to factor in some courtesy or consideration. Efficiency trumps all these days, I thought to myself. Gathering my hat and thoughts, I made my way up the steps to the Bank doors.
The State Bank was something of a dinosaur in an age of fabricated titans. Made of marble and stone, it was quite out of place in amongst the plasteel and glass buildings around it. Sometime in the late 20th century, it was deemed too expensive and labour intensive to build with stone or steel. It was still used up until automation dictated that lighter, more malleable materials be used. But still, it was nice to see some buildings had withstood the test of time, especially those with such large wooden doors such as these. I can scarcely imagine anyone daring to build much of anything out of trees these days, much less something as mundane as a front door. The State Bank door was actually one of the few doors in all of San Francisco that still required manual interaction to open. The richest building with the oldest of doors. I guess someone still had a sense of humour after all.
Upon entering the bank, I paused briefly to get my bearings. A small gold and burgundy sign pointed the way to enquiries, and I promptly headed in that direction. There was a short queue of only three customers waiting to be served. With customer service the way it was these days, soon the queue would stretch out the front door and halfway down the steps. Perhaps the manual door was left in place for a reason after all.
I glanced around the bank and marvelled at how little it had changed in the past forty years. I recall coming here as a child, although it wasn’t the State Bank then, and being amazed at the height of the ceiling. To think that it had all been designed, built, plastered and painted by hand more than a hundred years prior to that. Such exquisite detail featured in every cornice, ceiling rose and balustrade. Such creativity, devotion and spirit. Quite a remarkable feat in its day, and one that would be quite unimaginable now.
“Next please,” called the clerk.
I stepped forward, politely noting the name tag on the lapel of the young man serving.
“Good morning, Martin, my name is James Finch and I have an appointment with Mr Peterson for 9.30,” I replied, looking at my watch.
“One moment, please Mr Finch.” He smiled forcibly as he made a series of gestures across his desk tablet.
A few seconds later a door behind the clerk slid open and a man, presumably Mr Peterson walked towards me, hand outstretched. Before he had a chance to greet me I reached into my jacket pocket, removed my gun and shot him three times in the chest.
I wrote another 5 or so chapters past this point. Mr Finch finds himself in a police hospital under heavy guard. He’s broken out by a vigilante group (which is admittedly pretty exciting). They explain that his brain has been ‘hacked’ and that he’s one of several such attacks that happened across the city. A big nasty tech company is responsible. They try to shut them down etc etc. Then the protagonist is stuck in a loop of exposition for eternity until the author got a real job and stopped writing.
