NSB: Non-Standard Behavior

By Rus Duncan

A catastrophic earthquake devastates the Pacific coast of the United States, and three long-dormant volcanoes erupt causing climate disruptions triggering a series of extended and exceptionally severe winters that eventually render the country west of the Continen

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798822955035

Rus Duncan

The author currently resides in Texas with his wife of fifty-plus years, enjoys dining out and engaging in good conversation with anyone willing to turn off their smart phone.

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 by Rus Duncan

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other–except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-8229-4526-5

eBook ISBN: 979-8-8229-5503-5

Table of Contents

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART THREE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PART FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PART FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

This is a work of fiction, and although its physical setting in the Midwestern United States and certain entities and locations

depicted have real-world counterparts, the characters and events are products of the author’s imagination, are used fictitiously,

and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Asteroids, climate change, and COVID 19 are stark reminders of our fragility; that at any moment everything representing stability and order may be taken away and plunge us into a world of frightening new realities with an uncertain future.

Fear and uncertainty lurk in the mentality of even the most civilized and technologically refined societies, and though veneered over by custom, religion, and law, something as insignificant as a microscopic organism will radically alter traditions, social paradigms, and trigger the most basic of human survival instincts.

The promise of security and protection after years of struggling to survive made joining the Dabanlife system a perfectly logical choice; the fact that it was a rigidly structured lifestyle supervised and regulated by software was not apparent at first, as was the ugly reality that it was voluntary submission to a cleverly disguised form of slavery with no avenue of escape other than death.

Involuntary slavery allows individuals to retain a measure of free will and exercise it as opportunity permits, but the Dabanlife system elevated slavery into its most refined form: abject surrender of both free will and decision-making to an electronic entity devoid of compassion or mercy.

This story focuses on the resourceful few who did not surrender, who despite tragedy, deprivation, or the constraints of Dabanlife were determined to make use of whatever means lay at their disposal to both survive and prosper despite the uncertainties of life in a hostile and oppressive environment.

We humans are unique; we are endowed with an array of mental and physical attributes allowing us the capacity to enjoy life and living even in less than comfortable situations and it is these qualities that also equip us with the wisdom to recognize and reject the lure of submission to enslavement regardless of the form it may take…even when it appears sensible, logical, harmless – or there appears to be no alternative.

It is to that select few that this story is dedicated.

Part

one

Chapter One

The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority,

but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.

Marcus Aurelius

Wake up, Arnie, it’s time to get up.

A man with a scraggly beard and graying shoulder-length hair sat up, stretched, and swung his feet to the floor. He rubbed his eyes, muttered, Lights.

The synthetic voice alarm stopped, the room filled with subdued lighting, and a coffee maker in the kitchen began a brewing cycle.

Four LEDs labeled WASH, SOAP, RINSE, DRY illuminated when he stepped into the shower. Wash! Pulsating jets of warm water doused away any remaining vestiges of sleep. Soap! A spray of fragrant lather covered him from head to foot. Rinse! He squeegeed himself with his hands and then raised his arms. Dry! The LED flashed red, and he rotated his body to take advantage of the heat from the blowers.

He grinned. Just like a car wash without brushes.

Arnie Hensley gazed at the lean face in the mirror.

Oughta get my hair and beard trimmed, but hey, why bother? Never go anywhere except to the workout room when the service bods come to clean the place, or the LifeBurger Café if I really get cabin fever. Besides, the dude who’s the barber messed it up royally the last time.

He tied his hair in a ponytail and went into the kitchen. Got five minutes before breakfast gets here, let’s see if this new batch of commissary crud coffee tastes any better.

The coffee was weak and bitter. They must get this stuff real cheap or else it’s sat on a shelf for a long time.

A green LED flashed over a small door at the end of the counter; he opened it, removed a warm plastic bin and the LED flashed yellow.

Yeah, yeah, got three minutes to put the basket back or take an NSB hit.

He finished his breakfast and turned his attention to a large monitor over his workstation. Seven-twenty-nine and counting, ought to start…right…now!

A split-screen format displayed four men at their respective workstations dressed in an eclectic variety of clothing. They held up coffee mugs and chanted in unison: We, who are about to see pigs fly, salute you!

Hensley smiled. Rub it in, okay? Yeah, I was told to start vetting the DalCare startup processes because Sean keeps screwing up.

Hey geekdaddy, know you’re cool with it. The speaker was Barry Morse, a bald Black man with a full beard. We all know you love being da man.

Love my job, Barry, but getting stuck with babysitting that fiasco means I gotta color inside the lines.

No way, man, you playing by the rules? – where’s the app for front-row tickets.

A dialog box popped up on Hensley’s small monitor.

ALERT! UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT DETECTED. MORE?

Wait guys, got a snooper alert hit. He clicked the box and frowned.

ORIGIN UNKNOWN. BLOCKED AND ARCHIVED

What’s up, Arnie, you got a like funny look on your face. Chuck Simmons was a curly-haired man in a faded Grateful Dead sweatshirt.

Weird, Chuck, got a failed access hit and snooper scan says origin unknown.

Origin’s a no-brainer, Erik Pierson’s trying to hack in to see if we’re bad-mouthing him.

Could be, you know. He cracked his knuckles. By the way, awful good of you to put on a shirt this morning, now how about pulling back your hair so we can see your face.

Ponytails aren’t my thing, I’m into the natural look. Tried a man-bun once but Barry here said I looked like Big Bird.

Speaking of the natural look, Stanley Green said, lucky for us Barry hasn’t played the nudist here like he did in Oregon.

Had to bring that up, Stan my man. Yeah, tried out the skin thing, thought it might be like cool, you know, be natural, that sort of stuff. He chuckled. Dude who said that being in one of those places made you see why God invented clothes got it right, you know.

LifeMode got a clothing optional parameter? Chuck asked.

Probably not, man, be a slam-dunk NSB hit when review time came.

Depends on who does it, Singh’s idea of Non-Standard Behavior is all about stats, skip the behavior part.

Keep it professional, guys, Hensley said. Pierson can’t log into this teleconference net, but Armand can review the sessions if I let him.

Another no-brainer, you don’t let him, okay?

What about you, Mel, your Dabanlifers all happy campers?

Deadfish Fisher’s campers are always happy, Chuck said with a snicker. Still can’t figure out how come you want to dress super nerd, Melly.

Somebody’s got to look professional, Chuckie-poo. He had on a long-sleeved green shirt with a red Paisley necktie. Everybody’s cool, except got one who’s about to check out.

Got eyes on him?

Affirmative, Arnie, robodoc’s close by.

Routine Activity Parameter’s maxed out excessive violation yet?

Nope, still racking up NSB hits big time, but it won’t matter after he’s dead, you know.

Stanley shook his head. RAP can’t be changed even if you’re dying, don’t we love it?

Tell me about it, Stan my man, Barry said, but it is what it is – welcome to Care City One Dabanlife.

SitePol on notice? Hensley asked.

Mel nodded. The robodoc will buzz them when he checks out, and off he goes to the oven.

Just another stiff, huh? Chuck said. Death’s got no meaning anymore, does it.

Not in this country, but what else can you expect when the United States loses almost half its population to an earthquake and two years of anarchy?

Hensley leaned back and closed his eyes. First there was a solar storm that fried everything with silicon chips, then two years later the big Christmas earthquake dropped most of the Pacific Coast from Alaska to Baja California into the ocean, caused a tsunami that took out almost every island in the Pacific, tore up most of the Far East’s coastal areas, left millions dead. The western US had a total power blackout; right behind it came the longest and worst winter in history, and more people died. The Federal Government folded up, law and order broke down, gangs and militant survivalists took over cities and towns, and there were so many dead that they were put in RDPs, roadside dead piles.

The military declared national martial law and finally got things under control enough to allow the Governing Committee to get help from outside and hold together what was left of the United States…

Barry’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Geekdaddy, you like hibernating on us?

Nope, you guys are doing a great job, just executed a system shutdown for a minute.

Speaking of system shutdowns, how come Pierson got the Admin One slot, Mel asked, were you in on that move?

No way; CareOps never asked me for input.

Not cool, dudes, Barry said. Word’s already out that he’s pushing to get administrative access to RAP.

Wants to play God now, huh? Mel said. Sort of figured he’d smooch his way up some way or the other.

He’ll never get it, Hensley replied. Singh hates him, and besides that, ComSecure’s gotta sign off on it and I’ll make sure that never happens.

Still can’t figure out how he got it, Chuck said, but he’ll definitely be less of a pain there than when he was doing sysop operations review and keeping us all in a world of crap.

Stanley stroked his beard. Got any idea what he’s after?

Hensley frowned. Attention and another promotion, I’d bet. Gotta allow he’s one of the best bugfairies I’ve ever worked with, but he starts doing spaghetti if he’s given any serious coding to do.

The cat’s not writing code now, like what’s his claim to fame, huh? Barry asked.

Like I said, smooched his way in, Mel said. He’s great at tweaking stats, you know.

Got that, Chuck said, and you’re right, somebody in the Cube loves him.

Keep an eye on him, Stanley said, Pierson’s a power freak, and the more power he thinks he’s got, the freakier he gets.

Speaking of freaky stuff, Mel said, what’s the deal with the trams? Had to wait forever the other day, every one that went by only had Dabanlifers or service bods in it and plenty of seats. Used to be that you could get rides any time if TransMode had a seat free.

Quit whining, Deadfish, you griped for a week after you got stuck on one full of Dabanlifers, Chuck said. By the way, learn any new Teetalk words?

Get real, Chuckie-poo, Dabanlifers don’t talk, just keep their noses in their Teepads and only look up when they run into something. But hey, the gadgets keep them happy, and that’s our performance goal: one hundred percent happy-happy Dabanlifers.

Gotta admit the Teepad thing was slick; couple of MIT geeks came up with a way to repurpose discarded devices for text-only, and when the Army handed them out in the refugee camps, everybody wanted one, you know. He made a face. Of course, now the only language Dabanlifers can speak is Teetalk.

Cube City Newspeak, Stanley said. Orwell would’ve loved it.

I got it: LifeCare’s not cool with your outfits, man, Barry said.

Whatever. Was almost late for a meeting, got there, and here comes a tram with Bushy Pierson in it all by himself.

Not cool, how’d the dude pull that off?

Asked, all he’d say was that he got lucky.

Maybe it’s a security issue with the trams, Stanley said. What about it, Arnie, you’re the ComSecure high poohbah.

Never showed up in my inbox.

I think it’s all about Bushy not wanting to share trams with service bods, Chuck said.

Stanley looked up from his keyboard. Here it is, quote, ‘TransMode modification 111.21, tram assignment.’ You guys want to hear it all?

140 characters or less, Stan my man, Barry said.

Dabanlifers and service bods get their own trams, Levelers get whatever’s available.

Not cool, man, sounds like Pierson malware but how’d he pull it off?

His usual way, Mel said, hacking and then jacking people around.

Stanley raised his coffee cup. How about giving us your take on the DalCare project, Arnie, looks like you’re the man of the hour now.

Almost ready except for some last-minute software modifications and upgrades. He made a face. Whole project’s been a major fiasco from the beginning, should have been finished in a year – took three, and now some software enhancements those people in Texas want keep glitching the system.

How come you’re not in on it, should be right up your alley.

Geekdaddy’d make them all look bad, Barry said. Can’t have some dude who knows what they’re doing messing with your acrap paydays, you know.

Why’d CareOps tag Sean Oliver for implementation process coordinator? Mel asked. He’s good but gets lost in space a lot.

Don’t have a clue unless somebody figured he’s expendable if it crashes.

Makes you a big target too, geekdaddy, Barry said, Bushy’d love to take you down.

Just got to stay under the radar, that’s all.

Stanley scratched his beard. How about telling us what you think is going on?

No idea, Stan, no search engine for this stuff.

Barry grinned. Hey, man, we did Dabank’s Attaboy code base together, you know, drop that on them and maybe they’ll like let you help.

Don’t have any BFF’s at CareOps, remember?

So? Hey, they unfriended you years ago, so like what’s the big deal.

The remainder of the teleconference was an extended discussion over statistics and software issues, and when it ended, he stood up and stretched.

Hate the number crunching stuff, bores me outta my mind but goes with the job, I guess.

Coffee! The brewer hissed and he went to the refrigerator. But I’m super lucky, these guys are tops and sure make my job easier.

He placed a porcelain mug under the coffeemaker’s dispensing spout; an alarm sounded, and a red-bordered dialog box popped up on his monitor.

ATTENTION! NON-STANDARD LIQUID CONTAINER DETECTED.

Yeah, yeah, I know, but I like my coffee in a real cup, not recycled garbage.

Cup and a granola bar in hand, he returned to his workstation and sat down. There was a ping and the monitor displayed a plate and fork with a question mark superimposed over them.

No!

A motherly-looking woman’s face with a concerned expression filled the screen.

Mute!

She registered a look of obvious displeasure, the display faded, and a dialog box appeared.

RESIDENT HAS DECLINED INTERACTIVE ASSISTANCE

*PLEASE SELECT DESIRED ACTION*

1. RETURN TO INTERACTIVE ASSISTANCE.

2. RESIDENT IS ILL AND DOES NOT WISH TO EAT.

3. GO TO OPTIONS MENU.

He leaned back and cracked his knuckles.

Most of the Levelers went for the total LifeMode package to get away from having to deal with option screens. Sounded good up front: LifeMode plans your meals, picks out your clothes, arranges your activities, entertainment, even tells you when to take a bath – but you gotta give up your freedom to make decisions and hand over your life to Dabank. Wasn’t cool with that; okay with some of the routine stuff, but not the total thing.

Three! But at least we got to make choices because the Dabanlifers sure didn’t.

He tasted the coffee and made a face. Want to get my meal settings modified, but it’s got to be done by the CareOps sysops to be legit and they aren’t too cool with implementing any changes…the monitor pinged.

RESIDENT OPTIONS MENU

*LIFEMEAL UPDATE*

1. RETURN TO INTERACTIVE ASSISTANCE.

2. REQUEST SYSOP ASSISTANCE.

One, it’s back to the chatbot witch; two, I mess with somebody’s performance stats.

Two.

RESIDENT HAS REQUESTED

2. SYSOP ASSISTANCE.

YOUR WAIT TIME IS APPROXIMATELY ONE MINUTE.

Wonder who’s the lucky one today?

YOU ARE BEING ASSISTED BY SYSOP MICHAEL CRAWFORD.

PLEASE STAND BY.

Michael Crawford was a sandy-haired man about Hensley’s age.

What now, Hensley?

Hi Mikey, your Dabanlifers all happy-happy today?

You oughta know, you’re on statsheet receipt.

Say that real fast three times.

Look, I’m covered up, go find somebody else to bug.

How about programming me off LifeMeal selection, I’m fed up with that chatbot witch’s dirty look every time I opt out of lunch.

Because that represents a service deficiency, and I’m tasked with a total compliance stat, that’s why. He removed his glasses. High and mighty Level Twelve, you helped code this operation, fix it yourself.

Can’t, gotta be a sysop modification done by you guys.

Won’t happen on my watch, don’t like being yelled at by Singh.

How about I talk you through it? It’s a simple quick-and-dirty – run a LifeMode porthole line and set me up for user augment with an interact skip function.

What part of no way don’t you understand, and besides, it might be an NSB issue, and I don’t want that on my record.

If I authorize it that’ll keep the CareOps monkey off your back.

There’ll be fallout from this, you know.

Goes with the job description, Mikey.

Yeah, whatever. He grunted and made an entry. Need your zip code so the system will process the override request and clear Bank Central.

Hensley wrote his Dabank login number on a sheet of paper and held it up to the eyecam. Here’s the key to Ali Baba’s cave, help yourself.

Doesn’t help me any, I’d need your chip, and it’s not likely you’d cut your arm off for me, right? He made a series of entries. Okay, it’s in the works, expect to get a nastygram from Admin One.

Hey, where’s your confidence in human nature?

Buried under my house in Sacramento. The screen went dark.

Mike’s got major PTSD issues. Was living in Sacramento when the earthquake hit, lost his wife and four kids, barely survived himself.

I was at a seminar in Omaha, staying in a little town not far from here when it happened. Got woke up in the middle of the night by Kumar, the motel’s owner, who said to come down to the lobby right away. They had the news on, and we were just getting some idea of how bad it was when the government shut down all the media except for emergency broadcasts.

All the motel guests started leaving right away, I just stood and watched. Kumar came over, asked me what was I going to do, I said, don’t know, my home’s in Portland, probably don’t have one now. He put his hands on my shoulders, said please stay here with my family and together we’ll survive. Remembered how bad it got after the solar storm, figured that was good enough for me, and we toughed it out for over two years until the army rescued us.

He made an entry and leaned back.

WARNING! YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO ENTER A SECURE MODULE.

IF YOU ARE ACCESS CERTIFIED ENTER YOUR PASSWORD, OTHERWISE YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO EXIT AND WILL BE SUBJECT TO A LEVEL FOUR NSB PENALTY!

My piece of work. Some bored Dabanlifer tries a little hacking, this locks him out of everything, and we could probably configure it so that he couldn’t even use his toilet.

His fingers rippled over the keyboard. Enter!

*PASSWORD IS CURRENT*

ARNIE GEORGE HENSLEY

PLEASE ENTER CIPHERCODE

This is the cool part – any hacker getting this far would look for another password.

He typed ‘cipher,’ a light on the console illuminated and he waved his wrist in front of it.

*RFID VERIFICATION ACCEPTED*

PLEASE ENTER DESIRED FUNCTION

At least we’ve got it to where a hard-core hacker needs a hatchet…

Olga, mail!

The synthetic voice’s accent was Russian female, soft and sultry.

Arnie, you have new mail. Do you wish text or voice?

Text.

Arnie, you have mail from Michael Crawford, subject: LifeMeal override. Display?

Trash. He’s off the hook, so he’s happy.

Arnie, you have mail from Sean Oliver, subject: DalCare software glitch. Display?

He accessed the DalCare database and scrolled through the code.

See the problem; tried to use a non-standard code, dorked the whole process. Oughta let him take the fall for this screw-up, but Singh and Bushy will make a big deal out of it and he’s too good of a geek to get burned by those two jerks.

He cracked his knuckles. Only one way out of this mess, gotta break some rules if it’s gonna get fixed right…

Five hours passed. Found the corrupted file, got it cleaned up and wrote a fix that oughta work. No acrap bonus for this one, just hope it runs when Oliver pushes the startup button.

He yawned. Need some coffee to clear my head for sure…

Arnie, you have mail from the Moon, subject: Are we waxing or waning? Display?

Huh? Display.

HELLO. ISN’T THIS A STRANGE PLACE? MAYBE IF YOU WENT OUTSIDE, YOU MIGHT DISCOVER SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT, AND I MIGHT EVEN ALLOW MYSELF TO BE ACCESSIBLE. BYE, WORM.

Cool, sounds like a woman’s hitting on me except that I don’t know any women. Let’s see where it came from. Source.

*SOURCE REQUEST PROCESSED*

ORIGCODE VALUE – 0

LINK VALUE – 0

PATH – NOT FOUND

What’s this? No origcode, no linkchain characters, no path – did this email bypass our firewalls? Comsecure last!

*COMSECURE SEARCH RESULTS*

LOG – UNEDITED

TEXT – SECURE

SOURCE – UNDEFINED

LEVEL – UNDEFINED

ACCESS – SECURE

ROUTE – UNDEFINED

PATH – UNDEFINED

MORE?

You bet I want more! That’s totally impossible, a secure email with no footprints, no way it could’ve slipped through without leaving any tracks – I’ve definitely got a major cybersecurity breach on my hands…

"Arnie, you have a priority message, subject: DalCare coding issues. Display?

REPORT IN PERSON TO SITECARE 1400 HRS FOR DISCUSSION OF DALCARE CODING ISSUES. ACK PIERSON

Great! Got this to deal with and I’ve gotta hike over to SiteCare and play mind games with Bushy. Hope Oliver’s wearing pants with a padded butt.

Acknowledge!

Arnie, you have new mail…

Olga, file, secure inbox.

Arnie, your inbox is secured. Do you have another request?

Service.

A yellow screen with a question mark superimposed over a broom appeared.

Routine.

YOU HAVE REQUESTED

*ROUTINE HOUSEKEEPING SERVICE*

IS THIS CORRECT?

Correct.

PLEASE SELECT A TIME

1. 1400 TO 1500.

2. 1500 TO 1600.

3. 1600 TO 1700.

Two.

YOU HAVE SELECTED

1500 TO 1600.

PLEASE CONFIRM

Confirm.

*YOUR SERVICE REQUEST IS CONFIRMED*

RESIDENT IS FORBIDDEN TO OCCUPY ROOM WHEN SERVICE IS IN PROGRESS

AND ALL ACCESS MODULES MUST BE SECURED.

Tap! The screen changed to the silhouette of a tram.

TRANSPORT AUTHORITY PROTOCOL REQUEST

PLEASE STATE DESTINATION AND MODE

SiteCare. Walk.

DESTINATION REQUESTED

*SITECARE*

MODE REQUESTED

*WALK*

IS THIS CORRECT?

Correct. The walk parameter’s my add-on, hate those trams.

*YOUR TAP HAS BEEN PROCESSED*

ALL ACCESS MODULES MUST BE SECURED BEFORE VACATING RESIDENCE.

THANK YOU FOR USING TRANSMODE.

He stepped out into a bitterly cold north wind, wrapped a scarf around his face, put his hands in his pockets and began walking.

You get a TAP; the tram stops in front of your complex, and after its chip scanner verifies your identity, the door opens. When you get to where you want to go, you’ve got thirty seconds to get out or you’re locked in until a Polpod arrives to see if you’re asleep or dead.

A tram passed full of Dabanlifers busy on their Teepads. Headed for the IVE Center, Immersive Video Entertainment, they call it. Suit up, get your thrills in any kind of virtual reality thing you want, get a free meal, and go home. Keeps the Dabanlifers happy and that’s all the Committee cares about but it’s definitely not my thing…way too creepy.

A gust of wind swirled a cloud of leaves around him as he paused at an intersection to let an approaching tram pass, and then stared in astonishment.

There’s somebody riding on the back of that tram!

The rider, masked and in black ski clothing, waved at him as the tram rounded a corner and disappeared from his view.

Chapter Two

Probable impossibilities are to be preferred to improbable possibilities.

Aristotle

The room smelled faintly of flowers, but he was in no mood to appreciate it.

Coffee! he yelled as he tossed his coat and scarf on the divan.

Arnie, you have unread mail.

Olga, later! He grabbed the coffee mug and went to the kitchen.

Lucky I’ve got some of Dad’s military cool – I’d gladly have kicked the crap out of Pierson. Blamed me for not catching Sean’s glitch and the whole time Armand just sat there nodding his head like a bobblehead toy and not opening his mouth.

But I could care less – that person on the tram’s got me really freaked out. Totally impossible, PhySecureOp’s surveillance systems monitor every move in this town with CCTV, chip scanners, motion detectors, and robotic devices so there’s no way someone can ride around on the back of a tram and not get caught.

The coffee brewer did not operate, and he checked the supply bin.

Out of grounds, don’t have another bag, no big deal, it’s in my regular snack order.

Olga, new mail.

"Arnie, you have mail from the tram, subject: Why didn’t you wave back? Display?

HELLO AGAIN. YOU SEEMED TO BE IN A HURRY OTHERWISE I MIGHT HAVE STAYED TO VISIT. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME. BYE, WORM.

Dawn streaked the sky when he threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Got nothing, absolutely nothing. Used every geek trick I know, dumps, log scans, string searches, nothing worked. Don’t get it, we’ve got every cyber safeguard programmed into Dabank messaging that was ever thought of, and some that aren’t…

He took a deep breath. Wait, dude, you’re going into crash mode when you oughta be thinking outside the box. He returned to the workstation and cracked his knuckles. Okay, whoever this person is must be looking for a reply, means there’s got to be a link or a keyword that lets me do it.

Olga, new message.

WORM. DON’T HAVE A CLUE WHAT YOU’RE AFTER BUT I’D LIKE TO HEAR YOUR VOICE. ARNIE

Okay, somebody this smart has gotta be someplace in Dabank and if they take the bait, I can identify them with VocoSecure. Should’ve thought of that sooner, think I’ll rest my eyes for minute. His head slumped on his chest, and he lapsed into a deep sleep.

Wake up, Arnie, it’s time to get up.

That’s my morning wakeup alarm!

Disable! A dialog box bordered in red popped up.

RESIDENT HAS REQUESTED

*DISABLE WAKEUP PROTOCOL*

WARNING: DEVIATION FROM ROUTINE ACTIVITY PARAMETER

WILL RESULT IN REDUCTION OF ACTIVE CITIZEN REWARD POINTS.

CONTINUE?

Yeah, yeah!

The entire screen turned red.

*NON-CODEABLE RESPONSE*

WARNING: THREE SUCCESSIVE NON-CODEABLE RESPONSES WILL BE RECORDED AS LEVEL 7 NON-STANDARD BEHAVIOR AND RESULT IN ACTIVE CITIZEN REWARD POINT PENALTIES

Disable!

MORNING WAKEUP PROTOCOL FOR

*31 OCTOBER*

HAS BEEN DISABLED AND YOUR ACTIVE CITIZEN REWARD POINTS ARE REDUCED BY

*10 (TEN) PERCENT*

PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE

Acknowledge!

Acraps – Active Citizen Reward Points, that’s what we get for money now and the only difference between us and the Dabanlifers is that they get paid for letting Dabank run their lives, we get paid for playing with it – basically like what a Russian geek posted on social media once: ‘They pretend to pay us, we pretend to work…’

Arnie, you have voice mail from Mars, subject: Are we seeing red yet? Play?

Gotcha! Play!

The voice was a synthetic genderless monotone.

I am no fool; if you want more information, go get a burger.

The Life Burger Café, situated west of Lincoln’s former business district, was a forty-five-minute brisk walk from Hensley’s complex. The downtown area had been heavily damaged during a fierce battle between the Army and cartel gangs, and nothing was done afterwards other than clearing rubble from O Street to permit construction of the tram system.

He paused to admire a tree growing from a shell crater on the sidewalk.

Saw it coming up a couple of years ago and it’s about twelve feet tall now. Really cool watching how this place changes in the spring; flowers growing out of cracks in the street and vines covering up the damage.

The café came into sight and beyond it the street became a tree-shrouded trail.

End of my world unless I made a left turn a couple of blocks back to get to SiteCare. Can’t figure out why this place’s stuck way out here, looks like they should’ve put it closer to the IVE center but that wasn’t my call.

The robotic kitchen was in full operation, and he watched in fascination as the mechanical hands prepared his order.

LifeCare knows what I always get, and the cooking starts as soon as the chip scanner buzzes me.

A small robosweeper emerged from under the counter and began working its way around the dining room. Speaking of robots, was in here a while back and a tram load of Dabanlifers came in. All in a line, all bent over their Teepads, nobody said a word, just picked up their orders and went back to the tram. Surreal, that was, but that’s how they are…

Three SitePol officers came in and the robosweeper scuttled back under the counter as one of them approached Hensley.

How come you’re in here, buddy? he demanded.

Got bored in my mod, came for a burger. Got a TAP, what’s the problem?

You’re in here all by yourself, that’s the problem, turn around so we can do a RetScan.

Something’s up; random retina scanning’s only authorized if there’s a security alert, and besides, SitePol’s only out at night, not in the daytime.

The officer motioned to his companions, and they came over.

Look, you gonna cooperate or do we hafta make you? he said.

Hensley held up his cup. My chip’s here in my wrist, Corporal, where’s yours?

The officer stepped back. Awful sorry about this, Mr. Hensley, we knew who you was when we buzzed you with the portable but we got orders to do scans on anybody who looks outta place, you know.

I’m cool with that, how about you guys have coffee on me.

Thanks, sir, but we really gotta be movin’ on.

No problem. By the way, is there an SSP in effect?

Yes sir, a Level Two.

Appreciate that. Tell Mark that Arnie says hi.

Site Security Protocol Two, huh. Explains why they’re out in the daytime, but all security alerts come from the Cube, and I should have been notified.

He waited a little longer, but nothing happened and he left when two tramloads of Dabanlifers arrived.

An extra bag of coffee was in the delivery bin and inside it a handwritten note:

When was the last time you had a cup of very good coffee?

He savored the aroma. This is seriously high-quality stuff; last time I had any like it was back at college, right before graduation. Was at Jean’s Beans; me and Julie, Gordon and Amy Roberts, and in a hot discussion about AI and robotics. Gordy was on a rant about how dangerous it was to default reasoning away from human intellect to computers, Amy was egging him on, and Julie elbowed me, whispered if I was going to let him get the last word.

Not buying it, Gordy, I said. Computers only do what they’re programmed to do by people and programming’s only as sophisticated as human intelligence, so go figure…there’s no way they can be smarter than people. Faster and more accurate, yes, but they don’t have human minds and your argument’s all sci-fi paranoia, not reality.

Wrong, Gordy said, you’ve read Toffler and as far as I’m concerned, he’s right on target. People will default to what a device tells them to do because the device’s become their god – take biometrics, for example. How long will it be before there’s a smart gadget you can wear on your arm that’ll tell you what to eat and how much?

Still not buying it, I said. The only thing inside the box is what somebody puts there and tells it what to do with it – you’ve bought into a crackpot idea from a good writer, that’s all.

You don’t think it’s possible to devise an algorithm that can simulate human intelligence well enough to fool people? How about computers that beat people at chess?

Nothing super-intelligent about that – a chess game’s nothing but a series of yes-no choices to determine the best move in a finite series, and that’s a no-brainer for a really fast logic system.

Then let’s bring Roko’s Basilisk to life, he said.

What all’s that thing? Julie asked. More sci-fi, I said. A giant super-intelligent AI machine is built that’s supposed to make the world a better place, but it goes rogue, rewards people who help it improve but kills or tortures anyone trying to stop it from becoming too powerful. Some people really think a gadget like that would be cool, you know…but Gordy’s certainly not one of them. Good try, I told him, but that thing’s in a sci-fi galaxy far far away.

You don’t think that’s a realistic concern?

Didn’t say that; anything’s possible because the tech’s definitely gonna get more sophisticated, it’s just that you’ve still gotta have a live person somewhere in the process. That biometric thingy might be great for health freaks, but if I want a cheeseburger, I’m gonna get a cheeseburger and that thing on my arm can yell all it wants.

Julie started laughing, made Amy mad and she got up to go after her, but Gordy grabbed her, kissed her, and got her calmed down.

Doctor Jack Lawrence joined us, and Gordy put the question to him. He said that human nature being what it was, the default value becomes whatever a person understands and accepts as absolute authority – be it a god, a human leader, or even a machine that the person believes has the answers that they want. Either way, it’s a voluntary submission predicated on a need and the desire to satisfy that need.

Can’t go along with that, Gordy said. Defaulting to any absolute authority other than God will cause grief sooner or later, and if people become convinced that robots and computers will fill a need that only God himself can provide, there’s going to be some big problems. Have you ever read Fredric Brown’s short story ‘Answer’? was written in 1954, and only one page long. A universe-size supercomputer is built, and the first question put to it is: Is there a God? and a voice replies immediately, Now there is one.

Doc just smiled. Gordon, if we did succeed in developing an automated society, don’t you think it would be in the best interests of humanity?

Can’t agree, Doctor Lawrence; what you’re describing is a social environment demanding complete surrender of human self-reliance, and it’ll crash no matter how sophisticated the software is.

His gaze wandered around the room. A recessed panel in the ceiling housed the LifeCare sensors monitoring his every activity; one was in every mod in Care City One, all of them linked to the National Central Data Bank located a few miles away.

Ten thousand people who survived the earthquake and two years of anarchy live in this city; there’s also one in Peoria, in Memphis, Birmingham, Tulsa, Little Rock, and number seven’s almost finished in Dallas.

A door opposite the mod’s entrance bore a small sign:

SERVICE ONLY, ACCESS BY RESIDENTS IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.

The doorway to the extragalactic world of the service bods, wonder what their life’s like. He glanced at the glowing LED on the LifeCare module. Maybe Gordy was right, maybe handing off who you are and what you do to a binary-powered god is what’s this place’s all about, and nobody’s figured that out yet…

LifeCare Residence Modules, or mods, were shipping containers repurposed into small apartments. Originally intended as temporary housing for people displaced by the earthquake, they became the Governing Committee’s solution for expediting construction of Care City One. Each arrived factory-ready for connection to the delivery system and the National Central Data Bank computer and 150 of them inside a prefabricated concrete warehouse comprised one Dabanlife complex.

The mod’s limited space allowed little room for furnishings beyond what was essential, and Hensley’s was standard for a single person in Leveler status: a bedroom and bathroom on one end, a central living area, a kitchen on the other end. Wall-mounted large-screen televisions and computer workstations were standard equipment, but aside from sofas, tables, and chairs there was little else in the way of furnishings.

He had just stepped from the shower when he heard Olga’s voice.

Arnie, you have an urgent teleconference request from Sean Oliver.

Teleconference? Don’t think I’m dressed for the occasion.

Olga, subject?

The subject is: Help me, please! Play?

Uh oh, bet this isn’t positive feedback.

He opened the teleconference mode and Oliver’s face filled the monitor.

It wasn’t my fault, I swear!

What are you talking about?

The DalCare startup crashed!

What do you mean, crashed?

Uh, like, something major’s gone wrong.

Okay, Sean, calm down, tell me exactly what’s happened.

Don’t know – it, uh, executed perfectly, all sessions up and running, got the release from host, got the installation secure feedback, uh, everything looked great. I signed off, and then my workstation alarm went crazy – it had crashed and all the data’s gone.

What do you mean by gone: deleted, damaged, corrupted?

No, no, uh, like really bad – the whole startup file’s gone, wiped out, no trace of it.

No way, there’s gotta be something.

Oliver’s face was distraught. No, no…it’s gone, gone, totally all gone.

Trashed, deleted, shredded, what?

No, totally gone, like, uh, it was never there.

What about the compilation software?

I checked – uh, yeah, it’s okay.

Dabank’s source codes?

Uh, okay as far as I can tell.

The start-up file’s all that crashed, right?

Yeah, yeah – think that’s all.

There’s a backup copy, try it again.

Can’t, CareOps yanked my access, I’m grounded.

Not good, Sean, but don’t cry to me. Pierson’s your godfather, take it up with him.

Oliver’s face was pale.

Arnie, he’s told the Cube that I caused it and they’re probably gonna put me away in Mind Care Community.

Erik Pierson, a short man with an Einstein mop of hair, greeted Hensley brusquely, and after seating himself behind an ornate wooden desk gazed at his visitor with undisguised contempt.

What’s the problem, Hensley, you never come out of that geek cave of yours unless we make you.

What’s the deal with Sean Oliver?

Simple – he’s responsible for a major software crash that’s made a lot of waves.

You check out his story?

We did, and it’s all bullshit. Armand and I both agree that what he’s spinning is totally impossible – that data’s got to be in a hidden file somewhere.

You’re wrong – I’ve checked everywhere, the software’s even erased from the residual memory and there’s no way a programming error could make that happen.

Whatever, it’s being handled as a coding error and he’s going to have to face the music.

Hensley folded his arms. I’m gonna tell you exactly why I’m here, so quit acting like you’re somebody important and listen, got it?

I don’t have to listen to you.

You’d better start – you got an SSP2 implemented without clearing it with PhySecureOps and ComSecureOps – totally without authorization, and your pals in the Cube aren’t gonna be real happy with you if they find out.

Pierson slapped the desktop. There’s a major physical security issue here in Care City One and somebody had to step up and take action.

Shove it, Pierson! CareOps is subordinate to ComSecureOps, I’m Data Security Process Control supervisor as well as senior Dabank Security chief, and when the Cube finds out how far you’ve gotten out of line, you’ll be the one in MCC, not Sean.

Pierson ran his fingers through his hair. What do you want to know?

First off, why was that security protocol ordered?

I don’t have to tell you, that’s a PhySecureOps matter.

Okay, let’s go downstairs and chat with Tom Bradley and Mark Tran about it.

I can’t do that!

Then tell me what’s going on.

This is absolutely classified…

Cut to the chase – what’s going on?

Someone’s compromised the city’s security software; things are happening that aren’t being correctly processed or recorded by the surveillance systems and we don’t have a clue.

Hensley went to a water cooler module recessed in the wall, waved his hand and a cup dropped in place and filled.

Okay, it’s not just somebody riding a tram in broad daylight and putting extra coffee in my commissary basket – there’s other stuff going on, gotta play it real cool now.

Okay, then what are these mystery beings doing, painting graffiti on the trams?

You think this is funny?

Nothing’s been blown up, right?

No, it’s all petty stuff…so far. Things get moved, someone got into one of the commissaries, tampered with the automated delivery system.

Can’t happen, the commissaries are guarded by dober robots and there are cameras all over the city – how come they didn’t get caught?

No idea.

Does the Cube know about any of this?

No, all they want right now is a reason for the DalCare crash that’ll satisfy the Committee but if this gets out those jokers in Washington will really be on our case.

Hensley crumpled the cup. Get something straight, Pierson, I’m not gonna let you and Armand throw Sean under the bus so CareOps can get off the hook.

Nothing I can do – it’s out of my hands now.

Then I got news for you – you’d better hope that I can find out why that startup crashed because if it does hit the fan, you’ll end up downstairs washing Polpods.

What are you going to do?

Find out who or what caused it, go from there.

A light snow was falling when he left SiteCare. He went to the café, took a seat by a window, and watched the snowflakes drift past as he tried to sort out what he had learned.

Gotta try and get my head around all this: Pierson’s right, this thing’s serious and the bad part is that I don’t have any clue where to start.

The robosweeper emerged from under the counter and began methodically working its way in his direction.

What’s got me stumped is how come I seem to be right in the middle of all this…

There was a bump against his chair; he looked down and saw the robosweeper back away. Got some software issues, little guy?

It bumped into the chair again, stopped, and began emitting a soft beeping noise.

That’s weird, acts like it’s trying to get my attention.

Taped to the robot was a note in the same handwriting as the one in the coffee bag:

Go visit the sugar cube and talk to Doctor Jack.

Chapter Three

Sometimes we look for one thing and find another.

Cervantes

The National Central Data Bank building, a six-hundred-foot-high concrete cube housing the Dabank computer, was also the residence of CARE, a select group of men that served as the Governing Committee’s representatives and whose sole function was to review Non-Standard Behavior statistics and report their findings to the Committee.

They were all former corporate executives with Committee connections and used their influence to create a lavish lifestyle for themselves which contrasted sharply with the austere and regulated existence in the Dabanlife complexes.

A bridge over a koi pond led to Bank Central’s main entrance where an elderly man in a lavender jump suit waited.

Doctor Lawrence?

Arnie Hensley; it’s been a long time! Come inside, I believe we’ve much to talk about.

They passed through a spacious foyer and down a carpeted hallway into a dining room with all the trappings and elegance of an upscale country club where Hensley caught a whiff of an aroma he had not experienced in years.

Doc, is that steak I smell?

Yes, and you are my guest for lunch.

Hensley gazed around the dining room in awe.

Where’d this setup come from; when I was living in here ten years ago it was bare concrete walls, cots, and army rations.

The other residents felt compelled to improve their surroundings consistent with their former lifestyles.

Doesn’t fit yours, I’ll bet.

Heavens no, too sybaritic for me, I enjoy simpler fare alone in my apartment. It has a window with an excellent view, a comfortable chair, and to be truthful, I find the other residents a little tedious. He chuckled. But to be fair, they find me tedious as well.

He poured himself a cup of tea. Arnie, you were the brightest star in the university’s Computer Science department; you were comfortable in both theory and systems, and programming language was second nature to you, but I suspect this visit is not to check on the welfare of your old mentor, is it.

Guess you know that the DalCare startup crashed on Monday, huh?

I was informed. None of the data was recovered, correct?

Nope. Disappeared, gone – six months of coding totally erased, and nobody’s got a clue how or why. Weird part is that the compilation program wasn’t affected, only the new software.

It’s being investigated as a programming error, I believe?

Everything points that way and Sean Oliver’s being hung out to dry. He cracked his knuckles. But there’s no way he could’ve caused it.

Are you certain? Sean has a reputation for, shall we say, occasionally creative coding so I can understand why he might be a likely candidate…but obviously you have reason to think otherwise. What about the problem with the beta test?

He was working on an overlay, tried to fix what he thought was a bug, but it was only some bad coding. Wasn’t a big deal; got it corrected, but Pierson made waves, and after a going to a prayer meeting at SiteCare with him and Armand, decided to take over the whole process.

You coded the final version of the implementation software, not Sean?

Had to, he kept getting himself into some serious binds.

And you don’t believe your venture back into programming backfired?

Nope. He laid both hands on the table. The DalCare crash was definitely sabotage and done by someone here in Care City One.

Your reasoning behind that conclusion?

No-brainer; that much data getting totally scrubbed couldn’t have been caused by a glitch, had to be a worm, a virus…some kind of really sophisticated malware that got through all our checking algorithms.

Assuming this is true, why would anyone want to do that?

Maybe there’s somebody in this town who’s not happy with Dabanlife?

A serious allegation, show me proof.

Wish I could, but all I’ve got is a gut feeling, figured I’d come here, get your take on it.

Might be better to keep quiet about the emails and the note on the robosweeper, he’s super sharp and I sure don’t want him asking too many questions…

A waiter was pouring coffee at a nearby table. That smells just like the stuff that was in my Commissary delivery!

Lawrence regarded him with a puzzled expression. Is something wrong?

Can I get a cup of coffee?

Definitely the same brew, so whoever sent me that bag has got a connection with this place, or else they’re stealing it…

Arnie, this matter needs to be discussed further in the privacy of my apartment and I would like for you to spend the night.

Can’t do it, my TAP’s only good for today.

It’s already been arranged. A LifeMode exception request has been approved and your RAP functions are suspended so you needn’t concern yourself with NSB issues.

Wish I could turn off my chip if I wanted to.

The implant was a requirement for participation in Dabanlife.

I know, but chipping was a hot topic back when I was in college; people were afraid that the government would require everybody to get one…the six-six-six thing, you know.

And then came the earthquake?

Yeah, and after that none of that stuff mattered anymore because people were just trying to stay alive and didn’t care what they had to do.

He admired the view from the window in Lawrence’s apartment as his host made himself comfortable in front of a small wood-burning fireplace.

How does that thing work, Doc, there’s no chimney, where does the smoke go?

It’s handled by a process called catalytic ionization reversal, a somewhat esoteric bit of engineering that converts the heat and smoke into another form of energy. I could go into more detail but I’m certain you’d not be interested.

Yeah, not into that sort of stuff, now how about your take on my sabotage theory.

It has validity, and I will offer you three possibilities.

Lay them on me.

A person disillusioned with Dabanlife is disrupting the Care City operation hoping for change or improvement?

Nope, won’t change anything, just rock the boat; what’s the next one?

Someone with Dabank access who has psychological issues believes they have been mistreated and is seeking revenge?

The access part won’t compute; I’m the only Leveler with full Process Admin, I’m not crazy, and I sure don’t want to shut down Dabank. What’s number three?

Lawrence adjusted a blanket covering his lap and feet.

There are people living nearby…near in terms of linear measurement, but light years distant in lifestyle and philosophy. Among them are those who read, appreciate poetry and music, and give passionate priority to things exalting the glory of the human spirit and freedom of intellect.

Where do they live?

In a reclusive community around what was once called College Lake.

There’s people living outside the city – what’s the deal with that?

When the Care City project began, skilled workers were needed to assist with its construction and a former Army officer was given charge of locating and recruiting them. His efforts were successful beyond expectations; he assembled a cadre of very capable people whose collective ability facilitated the city’s construction and organization…in so many words, Care City One exists due to their dedication and effort.

How come they’re living out there instead of in the city?

They wanted no part of Dabanlife; they considered the entire arrangement a dehumanized system of electronic servitude.

And the Committee didn’t do anything about it?

"The Committee had no choice – aside from the value of their contribution, they had