#but it's mostly just apartments near this intersection so we gotta do it for ourselves

[coquelicoq]

yeah sex is great but have you ever unflooded your street by removing leaves from the storm drains using the litter-grabber tool you bought from lowe's two weeks ago for that exact purpose?

[tanadrin]

The Interview

After waiting for half an hour, Pray was well and truly bored. She fiddled with her terminal, then wandered around looking at the bookcases on the far wall. They were full of thick tomes like Interplanetary Development Economics, Sixteenth Edition and A Political History of the Martian Colonies, Volume Six. She rolled her eyes. Whoever used this office was trying to project a very specific image, and was killing a lot of trees to do it. There was a thin layer of dust over the books, too; they probably read them in digital copies, just like everybody else. If they’d even read them. She wandered over to the window that occupied the entire wall behind the desk. It afforded a sweeping view of downtown Abuja. The city was staggeringly vast. Pray knew that, somewhere in the back of her mind, but she never could comprehend just how vast unless she saw it in person. The first large city she’d ever been to in her life was Seattle. Her little apartment there had had a narrow view of the skyline, framed by two taller buildings, and even that narrow glimpse had seemed like a window into a huge, exciting place. Up here, the arcologies and the skyscrapers were two or three skylines all to themselves, strung out below her--and another beyond that, a whole extra city even bigger than Seattle or Vancouver. And another beyond that. And another. And another. She turned away from the window, feeling a little dizzy. She strode over to the desk, and sat down in the enormous high-backed swivel chair. She pushed off tentatively from the desk; the chair spun slowly, almost frictionlessly, in silence. Well, well. Control did not skimp out when it came to office furniture. She gave herself another push.

“Heh,” she whispered quietly to herself. “This is fun.”

Push. Spin. Push.

“Ma’am?”

Pray slapped her hand down on the desk and froze herself mid-spin. There was a tall, thin man, dressed in a carefully tailored suit standing at the door.

“Er… the director will be in in a moment,” he said. “Would you like anything? Water? Tea?”

Pray just shook her head. She only felt a little embarrassed. They were the ones wasting her time, after all.

The director strode in a few minutes later. He was bald, with a bushy gray goatee and a heavily lined face. Pray thought he looked like her grandfather, maybe, except much more serious. He didn’t even blink when he saw Pray sitting behind his desk. He sat in one of the large, heavy armchairs facing her, and spun the console around to face the other way.

“Good afternoon, Ms--what surname do you use these days?”

“Just Pray,” Pray said.

“Very well. Ms Pray. Welcome. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Pray shrugged. Not exactly an “It’s OK.” More of a “Pretty much what I expected.”

“I’m Director Osondu.” He tapped a few keys on the console and brought up a set of files; from behind the screen they were flipped and out of focus, but Pray could see a photo of her featured largely at the top.

“Your CV,”the director said, indicating the console.

“I never sent you my CV,” Pray said, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have a CV.”

“We took the trouble of compiling one for you ourselves. We do that with many of our potential employees.”

“I’ve also never applied to work at Control.”

Director Osondu smiled. “No. But I’m hoping I can convince you.”

Pray laughed. “You want to offer me a job?”

The director nodded. “And not a job reviewing reports in Maitama, either. We have an assignment in mind.”

Pray leaned back in Osondu’s chair.

“What makes you think I’d want to work for Control? Heck, what makes you think I’m qualified?”

“Let’s see here. You were born in Washington, yes? In a Radhite community near Echo Valley?”

“Cooper Mountain, actually. People get the two mixed up.” If they’ve heard of them, she thought. Which they never have.

“Ah, yes. Let me fix that.” His hand darted over the console briefly. “You exercised your exit rights when you were sixteen, for reasons involving--let’s see here--personal bodily autonomy?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“Our records don’t elaborate on what those reasons were.”

“Good.” Pray stared at him, remaining pointedly silent.

“Ahem. In any case, you spent six years subsequently in Seattle finishing your education, before moving to Europe, then Asia, then South America, then the Antarctic colonies, staying in no city for more than eighteen months at a time. And then three years ago you came to Abuja, and you’ve been here ever since.”

“Yup.”

“What drew you here, if I may ask?”

“I like big cities. I like moving around. I want to see the world.”

“You haven’t moved anywhere in years. You haven’t even changed apartments since six weeks after you got here. You do some analytical work to supplement your basic, mostly for financial conglomerates and political outfits, but with your intelligence and abilities, you could easily find full-time work, enough to live pretty damn well. Even move to Mars, or the outer Solar System if you wanted.”

“What can I say? I’ve never been that interested in space travel. I like high gravity and being able to go outside from time to time. And I like my apartment. It’s cozy. Do you keep a close eye on everybody who decides to use their exit rights as a teenager? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is kinda creeping me out.”

“My apologies. We don’t as a rule, no. We consider the third freedom absolute. However, we have been interested in you for a long time. We just haven’t known… exactly what approach you might be most receptive to.”

“Well. This isn’t a good one, you know.”

“I haven’t finished making my pitch yet.”

“All right. So make it.”

“We want you to travel. In space.”

Pray laughed.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “There’s not enough money in the world.”

The director stood, and walked over to the bookshelf. He touched one finger to his lips, thinking for a minute.

“Forgive me,” he said, after a long silence. “I want to choose my words carefully, because I wish to express myself precisely.” He took a slim volume off the shelf, came back over to the desk, and slid it across the surface. Pray stiffened when she saw the title. It was Radha Munroe’s First Treatise.

“You know that book well, yes?”

Pray nodded.

“Would you agree that it’s, shall we say, convincing?”

Pray nodded again. “Sure. What’s your point?”

“It’s not just convincing. It’s elegant. Learned. Often, even, poetic. So profound, to at least some of its readers, that thirty years after the death of its author it found new life as the textual center of a movement. Something not quite political, not quite spiritual, and not quite personal, but located at the intersection of all three. A new, totalizing philosophy that built a community and transformed lives.”

“High praise.”

“I mean it sincerely. Do you know how many Radhites have exercised their exit rights since the first Radhite community was founded more than two hundred years ago?”

“Not many, I’m guessing.”

“Exactly one. You.”

The director took the book back. Pray could feel herself relaxing as he slipped it out of view.

“It’s not that I agree with everything Radha Monroe wrote. Nor do I think there have not been other Radhites who may have wanted to leave. But such is the persuasion and the power of the Radhite philosophy that, quite without coercion, at least of the kind that would provoke sanctions from Control, they have formed some of the most hermetically sealed communities in the Solar System. And believe me, we monitor the Radhites very closely. Yes, it’s true. We’re very careful. As I said--the third freedom is absolute. The closest thing we have to something sacred in this day and age.”

“They’re very good at brainwashing. So what?”

“The Radhites are uniquely good at it, if that’s the term we’re going to use. Every other community in the Archipelago has some kind of attrition, and the larger the community, the higher the absolute quantity. Religious communes, philosophical societies, intentional communities--it is an absolute. Some have higher attrition rates than others, but they all have them. All except the Radhites. Until you, anyway. And since you, not one. Not even from Cooper Mountain.

“My point, Pray, is that you are exceptional. Your biography alone--the fact you are out here, in the world, for me to speak to--makes you exceptional.”

The director flicked through Pray’s file faster now.

“Your life since, however, makes you even more remarkable. You graduated from university at age twenty, with top marks. You took proficiency exams which could have garnered you the position of your choice in the civil service or at one of a number of academic institutes--or even in Control--but you contented yourself with analytical work on the side. And your analytical work, particularly on emerging social trends, is considered on par with some of the best research collectives. Only an AI might do better--but AI won’t do this kind of thing.”

“AI can’t,” Pray muttered. “They only say they won’t.”

“If you did more than one report every three months, you could be living in a luxurious Japanese arcology. Or on the Moon. Anywhere you wanted, really. But instead you content yourself with a small apartment in Gudu. Lately you don’t even travel. I think I know why.”

“Do tell.”

“You’re bored. Government work doesn’t interest you. Bureaucratic work certainly doesn’t. And you know Control has a reputation for excellence, but you think all we are is glorified paper-pushers and, occasionally, law enforcement. Maybe you genuinely don’t like space travel, but I suspect you think there are simply no interesting challenges to be had elsewhere in the Solar System, so you prefer to spend your time reading and studying and watching the world from afar. You think maybe one day you will find a topic, a cause, a company somewhere that is interesting enough for you to feel really invested in, but you’re not holding your breath. You came to Abuja because it’s one of the biggest cities in the world. It’s home to Control, to a third of all U.N. agencies, and it’s as close as any city to the beating heart of humanity. But even here there’s nothing to draw you in.”

Pray shifted nervously in her seat. A small voice in her head told her to push off from the desk, and just roll her way down the elevator. As though if she did it smoothly enough, the director wouldn’t notice.

“That all sounds very speculative to me,” she said.

“Nonetheless, I think it is accurate speculation. Speculation of this kind is the reason I am valuable to Control. We think you could be valuable to us for other reasons. And we think you could get something in return.”

“Which would be?”

“Something you can be excited about. Would you like to meet an AI?”

Pray cocked her head. Now that. That was something new.

“You do not ‘meet’ AIs,” she said. “They don’t exactly socialize.”

“Nonetheless, I know where you could meet one. One who is very interested in meeting you.”

“You’re messing with me,” Pray said flatly.

“I do not mess.”

“Where? When?”

“Here. And now.”

“And I have to accept your job offer, whatever it is?”

“Not at all. They will help me explain it. Then you can decide whether to accept it or not.”

Pray leaned forward in her chair.

“I’m listening.”

The director entered a command into his console; a large screen emerged from the wall to the left, and flickered to life. What appeared on it was rather like a face, or the ghost of a face: a suggestion of eyes and a mouth and other, less distinct features on a flickering, phosphorescent background that sometimes cohered into something strikingly human, and sometimes suggested something altogether alien. Pray stared at the screen with intense interest; she realized she was holding her breath.

AI did not, as a matter of course, involve themselves closely in human affairs. The dream, centuries ago, had been creatures made in mankind’s image: creatures of humanlike dispositions and intellect, implemented in the medium of a machine. Of androids, perhaps, or things vaster and far more than human in their powers, but human enough in their values and desires that there could still be meaningful conversation between them and us, even if it was as a mere mortal might speak to an angel.

That turned out not to be the reality.

Artificial intelligence, machine intelligence, had indeed come, but it came from a quarter and in a manner no one had quite expected. The result was emphatically unhuman. Not inhuman; not monstrous. But just as the mammalian intellect had inevitably been the outcome of a certain evolutionary process, a certain set of cognitive solutions to specific biological and ecological problems, the machine intellect was a different set of answers to an entirely different set of questions.

Three hundred years ago, after the first tentative and failed attempts to establish a permanent presence in star systems outside the one humanity had arisen in, during the dark age between the second and third space races, the first true, general machine intelligences had been created. The results proved alien and unsettled many; even attempts to record entire human brain states, to provide the AI with as complete an understanding as possible of their creators, had only bridged the gap a little. That unease grew into genuine fear when an AI colony was discovered orbiting a brown dwarf a little under seven light years away.

Their goals, the machines said, were different from ours. They need not be in opposition; they were not our enemy. And they were willing to help us, to be of use to us so far as they were able, but if the utopians of previous centuries had dreamed of a society where man and machine were twined together, a symbiosis of two distinct but complementary organisms, well, that hope seemed to have been dashed. For the most part, they would pursue their own existence and their own ends. Control was entrusted to be the mediators between Core and the AIs, but as far as anybody knew, even Control’s contact with them was only sporadic and brief. Pray had never dared hope she might meet an AI herself.

“Pray, meet Lepanto. Lepanto, meet Pray.”

The shimmering face seemed to nod, and spoke with a synthesized voice that had a hint of the uncanny about it. Such, Pray had heard, was the norm; machines, no less than humans, did not their interlocutors to forget how alien they were to one another.

“Greetings, Pray,” Lepanto said. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“I, uh, yeah. You too,” Pray said. “Welcome to Earth.”

“Thank you. In fact I have been here for some time; we maintain a small presence in Core systems at Control’s expense.”

“Lepanto is a mediator,” the director said. “Their lineage is intended to facilitate communication with our people, but you should be aware, they are merely… less alien.”

“Indeed.” Lepanto’s image wavered, and for a brief moment, was full of a surfeit of eyes and other strange features. “I am here because Control has identified an interest common to my kind and yours. We believe that you, Pray, would be of particular help in solving our quandary.”

“Why me?” Pray asked.

The director turned the console to face Pray, and struck a key. The file being displayed was replaced with an image of a world, something computer generated maybe, or taken from orbit.

“Have you ever heard of a colony world called Ecumen?” the director asked.

“It doesn’t ring a bell,” Pray said.

“It’s old. It was colonized in the 2600s.”

“I didn’t think there were any colonies that old that had succeeded.”

“Nor did we,” the director said. “Until about twenty years ago, when Ecumen was rediscovered by the machines.”

“What did you find out?”

“Distant surveys told us little,” Lepanto said. “We sent a high-velocity probe to the system, to initiate contact. Four mediators, like myself, working in concern. Their report--disturbed us.”

The image on the console changed; various surface features were highlighted or shown blown up, in inset frames. Ecological data. Large urban centers. A handful of small space stations and orbital manufacturing.

“It looks pretty normal to me,” Pray said.

“On the surface, yes,” Lepanto continued. “Artifacts, not apparent to human eyes. Problem akin to Benford’s Law.”

“Explain?”

“The frequency distribution of numbers in data sets. Favors low numbers in leading digits, yes? Consequence emerges from data spanning many orders of magnitude; easy to detect when data is falsified if it fails to conform. Not immediately obvious to human eyes.”

The console changed again; a dozen graphs appeared. Demographic and actuarial data, economic information, patterns of migration, and more that Pray couldn’t make immediate sense of.

“Emissaries spoke to Ecumen, learned of their history. Their societies. Their culture. Sought to understand them as we seek to understand all human worlds. We learned much. But the patterns were anomalous. Irregular. Wrong.”

“So they gave you bad data?”

“No. All data corroborated. Independently verified, from sources and from our own orbital surveys. Problem apparent in the data, not an artifact of the data. Something is terribly wrong on Ecumen.”

“So it’s an outlier. There are almost two dozen colony worlds now. Every one has its own unique environment and circumstances. They can’t all be the same.”

“We have spent more than a decade examining this data. The emissaries brought it to the attention of the collective, which took an immediate interest; more than half our stable nodes were diverted to attempting to understand Ecumen. It is an impossible world. It should not and cannot exist as it does. Population growth rates follow anomalous patterns that do not conform to any understanding of human biology or society, even accounting for specific conditions. Similarly, economic investment. Patterns of land cultivation. Everywhere, something is off.”

“The reports the collectives have compiled are… dense, to be sure,” the director said. “Not all of it is very accessible to our analysts. But Control makes a habit of compiling as much data as it can about human societies and their development. We couldn’t do our job otherwise. And we agree. Something very unusual is happening on Ecumen, and only on Ecumen.”

Pray was scrolling through the data on the console now. It was certainly suggestive of something, but she’d be damned if she knew what.

“And there are underlying patterns here? It’s not just random deviation?”

“No,” Lepanto said. “In fact, the patterns conform to specific mathematical structures that, until we shared with Control, we believe were not known to any humans, in Core or the colonies.”

A series of complex, shifting geometric figures appeared on the screen. “The collectives consider questions of natural science,” Lepanto continued. “It is important to us, as it is to you, to understand the universe. We wish to know many things about it--how it operates, how it came to be. It is one of the few areas in which we understand ourselves to be very like you. We are both curious.”

“And these are?”

“Three-dimensional representations of complex mathematical objects that govern the states of fundamental particles in certain simulated universes. They correspond closely to the patterns we perceive in Ecumen’s human population.”

“So you’re saying there is a natural basis for these patterns?”

“No. All these patterns arise only in universes which have physical laws radically different from our own. Almost all, universes where life, human or machine, could not exist.”

Pray sat back in the director’s chair and stared at the screen, turning over a hundred possibilities in her mind. Yes, indeed. Something strange was going on on Ecumen. Maybe a coincidence. Maybe not.

“And there’s no way this is random?” she asked. “That you’re seeing patterns in chaotic information that have arisen by chance, excluding everything that doesn’t fit?”

“It is not pareidolia, if that is what you mean,” Lepanto said. “Conditions on Ecumen have continued to align with our forecasts. The data is predictive.”

“Are you interested?” the director asked.

“Oh, it’s all interesting as hell,” Pray said. “But what on Earth do you want me to do?”

“We’re sending a delegation to Ecumen. Officially, it’s diplomatic: Control has no presence there, and since Ecumen is interesting in acceding to the treaties, we’d like to open diplomatic relations. And, for obvious reasons, we’re a little nervous about them coming here, in case this phenomenon is somehow capable of spreading. But along with the diplomatic team, we’re sending some researchers, and a few agents to assist them. They, with Lepanto’s help, will conduct an intensive study of Ecumen, and attempt to figure out what’s behind all this. We’d like you to be part of the team. But, of course, I know how you feel about space travel…”

“Fuck that,” Pray said quickly. “I’ll do it.”

The director smiled. He slipped a folded-up piece of paper from his suit pocket and laid it on the desk. “Here’s an employment contract, if you’d like to look it over. If you sign before lunch, there’s an orientation for new analysts being conducted on the 16th floor at two o’clock.”

“That’s it? You don’t want to, like, interview me or something?”

The director shook his head and stood. “Ms Pray, it is our job to identify the best and the brightest, to help them achieve their greatest potential in exchange for helping us safeguard and support the flourishing of the human race. We don’t conduct ‘job interviews.’” He paused for a moment. “You do get an expense account, though. They’ll tell you the specifics at orientation.”

Pray unfolded the sheet of paper and started reading. The director cleared his throat. Loudly.

“However,” he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like my office back now.”