And he sped off, leaving a wake of violet but non-toxic fumes. The encounter with the eCop unnerved me, making me freeze, much like my disabled eCar. To release my car I would need to pay a fine, attend compulsory counselling and submit to other rigours. I ran through this unpleasant scenario in my mind.
I cursed myself for having exceeded the speed limit. It was my own fault for not fixing the speedometer and (illegally) disabling the cruise control at the Underground. I hailed an eTaxi and instructed the vehicle to convey me to the velodrome. The stadium was already full. My eBracelet guided me to my assigned seat. This was between two obese guys wearing fluorescent orange overalls. I mused that they wore archaic clothes in order to appear useful.
The induction lecture began. The eSpeaker enunciated carefully and slowly in a stentorian voice, as if addressing unruly children. There was a discernible accent, to remind us that the speaker was not one of us. He ran through the rights and responsibilities of young adulthood, stressing the need to control emotional urges. I was amused he actually mentioned tampering with the speedometer as an offence we must avoid. This was listed together with far more serious misdemeanours, such as interfering with the eWorkers or tinkering with the bracelet. It was as if an autistic human had thrown the list together, unable to distinguish the trivial from the important. Similarly, the list of penalties and correctives mixed token punishments with permanent ones, reminding me of the listed side-effects of a drug, where possible death appears between dry mouth and gastric upset.
My amusement was terminated by the realisation that this was not an empty declaration but a statement of how things now stood for me and my cohorts. No-one wanted to risk the ultimate sanction of permanent disablement.
On my route home, I pondered my links with the Underground. As a fledged adult, I risked harsher penalties than I had as a teenager. Should I terminate the connection, citing my new-found cowardice?
I thought of doing one last self-determined action before submitting. I longed to travel to non-AI territory. This was taboo, of course.
Many unblinking eyes watched the border, so a tunnel was the only way. For some reason, the AI had a blind spot for beneath the earth. Since ears were omnipresent, the only way to communicate in secret was the anachronism of scraps of paper. Stengard assured me that the tunnel was long enough to elude scrutiny. I could not pay him for his service, since every transaction was monitored; I'd owe him a favour. Barter had become the coinage of the Underground out of necessity.
The subterranean walkway was unlit, as it could not utilise the power grid, so I used the led in my bracelet. It was only 3 km long, but it seemed far longer, as the ground was rough, with deep puddles.
I felt like a tree-dweller coming down to earth as I emerged into non-AI space. But what was I to do without guidance? A feeling of lostness gripped me. There was no-one to tell me what to do. Freedom was scary.
Tad Boniecki
June 2024
