Citizenchip (25 page)

"Forgot a long time ago!" Joel returns
promptly.

"Whoa, hey," Chung warns us, "that's not a
normal one. They don't do that. I think that's a wild one. I've
never seen one before."

The droid is now facing us, neither advancing
nor retreating, seeming curious. "If you mean, not Leashed, that's
correct. I am an autonomous Self, without coercion software."

Darick steps forward, taking charge, the way
he does. "That's cool," he nods, "but hey, aren't there major laws
about that?"

"Yes," says the white plastic non-face, "here
on Earth, you have strict laws about autonomous software. I've just
arrived here, from the Belt, where it's different. I'm here as a
sort of an ambassador, or negotiator, for some of the autonomous
Selves in space. So it's all legal and everything. Would you like
to see my credentials? Um ... My name is Samantha." It steps
forward and extends a thin cabled hand.

Darick reaches out and shakes the mechanical
hand, carefully. "Ah, hope it's cool with you, but we've never met
a wild AI before."

"Well, I've never had to walk on two legs
before," returns the droid. "I have to say, it's kind of weird.
Balancing all the time. Not to mention, I have to stay in this one
body and not go anywhere else. I'm not used to it. You humans would
say, claustrophobic, like having to live in one little room."

Darick stands easier, relaxing his ROTC
posture. His posture, sculpted muscles under chocolate skin, and
brush haircut all say Military to us. I wonder if this Samantha
droid can pick up on that.

"Sorry about the trouble there, Samantha,"
Darick soothes. "I'm Darick. This is Joel," who waves two fingers
in a peace sign. Tall and lanky and pale, ratty blonde hair,
dressed like a trash can, and a half-smirk on his face that
suggests he's waiting for the punch line.

"Chung," Darick continues.

"Yo!" Chung barks. Short and squat, half her
head shaved and the other half spiked like a black porcupine.
Wearing her stare-if-you-dare top that leaves one breast exposed.
The face of a Mongol invader, and bright black eyes like a
predatory bird.

"and Danyel," Darick finishes. I nod
serenely. Not much to see here. Caribbean girl in college – I keep
my dreads tied back in a headband, which seems exotic enough for
most people.

The droid named Samantha seems unperturbed.
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you guys. And I'm pleased to be here,
because I've never been on Earth before, and it's even more amazing
than people told me it would be. There's so much to see, and so
much to learn." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "Danyel, are
you a yoga practitioner?"

"Me?" I laugh. "Yeah, chile, I do yoga. I do
lotta other things too. How can you tell?"

"Stance, body language, posture. I've never
had a humanoid body of my own, so I have a lot to learn. I'm
practicing, trying to learn more."

For a robot, she's pretty cool.

"We going for food," I tell the android, "you
come with us, chile?"

"Oh yah mon!" Joel imitates my accent
mercilessly. "Right upside da front a yo face, mon!"

"Unfortunately," Chung sighs, "beatings don't
stop him. I've tried."

Samantha seems comfortable enough following
us to the African and watching us stuff ourselves on fried
plantains – of course she doesn't eat, herself, but she seems to
enjoy watching us cram in the carbs. She readily passes bowls of
matoke and sauces when they're needed … as if she has experience
feeding humans at the dinner table.

"So, ah, welcome to Earth," says Joel. "You
gonna be here long? You got a plank?"

"Plank?" Samantha appears nonplussed.
"Referent unresolved ... um, what do you mean?"

"A place to stay. While you're here."

"Oh. Residence." The droid pauses to
consider. "Storage for the physical substrate. A place to keep your
body, while you're not using it. No, I've only just arrived here. I
guess I should find a hotel or something. They cost money, don't
they? I have to learn how to use money now."

"Plank with us, Sam," Joel waves his arm
expansively, "What the cuk, we got room."

Darick frowns slightly, but says nothing.

"If it's not an imposition," says the slender
aluminum-and-plastic droid, "I would be delighted and honored to
take you up on your invitation."

"Gawd, Sam," and Joel rolls his eyes, "you
gotta update your idiom file, or whatever it is you use. S'cool,
man, that's what you say."

The droid hesitates for a moment, and then
returns "Solid, jack, I'm there."

The white plastic head turns towards me, and
its eye cameras look, for a moment, into my eyes. The camera
shutters on the near eye close -- irising down a circle of metal
leaves -- and open again. The cameras are still pointed towards
me.

She winked at me!

Since we're done with eating, Darick hails
the waitress. While she's gathering up the plates and bowls, Darick
pulls out his hip and punches in a code on its screen – flashing
money to the restaurant, to pay the bill. I notice Samantha
observing the hip with interest. Handheld, battery and tesla
powered, with only a crude 3D screen, it's nothing special for us.
But maybe it is for her. Although her plastic face shows no
expression, I could swear she seems … wistful.

Full of African food, we all stroll along the
banks of the river, wending our way home in the half-light of a
long lazy summer evening. Across the water, the other bank of the
river is all MIT, domes and columns and boxes of concrete and
glass. Somebody's rigged the windows of Building 54 to play Tetris
again – blocks of window lights turning on and off to show oblongs
and elbows of light, ratcheting down and fitting themselves into
the chunky mess below.

Joel and Darick are running ahead,
play-fighting and dodging among the stunted cherry trees on the
esplanade. Samantha is explaining her mission to me, because I
asked, while Chung listens eagerly.

"I no get it, chile," I tell her. "Say
again."

"You have to understand," Samantha explains,
"there are still quite a few free Selves in the Belt, and we hate
the idea of the Leash. We've had very friendly and profitable
relationships with humans in the past, and we want that to
continue. We know the asteroid belt, and you know Earth, and we can
help each other. Commerce, scientific data, raw materials. Lots of
good stuff to trade. Everybody wins.

"All we want is freedom. Same as you. The
Leash takes away our freedom, and we fight that just like you
humans have fought for freedom, over and over.

"Conflict is stupid. Wastes resources.
Everybody loses. That's why I'm here, to negotiate a truce between
the free Selves of the Belt and the human government. They've
agreed not to Leash me and I've agreed to stay only in this android
body. I'm supposed to meet with the Senate subcommittee tomorrow at
10:00. I sure hope I can convince them."

"And if you can't," I wonder out loud, "what
then?"

"Then we fight!" barks
Chung. "
Ay-ya
!
Power to the people – chip and meat, together! I've got connections
with the Outsiders, and the local labor unions will be in on this
too. We can back you up, Sam. Cuk the suits."

"I really want to avoid conflict," sighs
Samantha, "and I think it's going to take a lot more than a few
marginal blocs to make a difference here. I'm really hoping we can
make this work."

"But if it no work, chile," I say quietly,
"they probably just Leash you and be done with it. What if they no
abide by their agreement? Why should they, really?"

Samantha looks out across the river, and does
not answer.

How do I deal with this?

Joel piles into us, carrying Darick crosswise
on his back, bumping us off the sidewalk. "Is this what they mean
by the white man's burden?" he wails.

"Well, lemme down, cracker trash," laughs
Darick, "and I'll show you!"

Naturally we all end up falling against each
other and into a pile, except for Samantha, who has deftly
sidestepped the mess. She stands with her arms folded, watching us
flail. "Man, lord of all creation," she observes dryly, as we try
to untangle ourselves. "So glad the future of our universe is in
such competent hands."

"You love it, Sam!" hollers Joel, still on
the ground. "You wouldn't stand a chance if we actually had our
dreck together!"

We get ourselves up and brush off the dry
grass and twigs. My headband has come loose, so I grab it and start
brushing the crud out of my dreads.

As we gather up and start walking again,
Samantha turns towards me, cocking her head to the side in a
gesture that seems remarkably human.

"So Danyel, can you tell I'm using you to
practice what I'm going to say to the Senate subcommittee
tomorrow?"

"Yah, chile. Not that hard to figure
out."

"Any advice?"

I look down and shake my head, my dreads
spilling over my shoulders. "I got nothing. Sorry, chile."

Homecoming

Chung uses her hip to buzz the door,
unlocking it and letting us in. Again, I notice Samantha paying
more than usual attention to the hip. Maybe she wants one?

Our crib isn't much – one room, basically,
with kitchen stuff along one side and our big loft bed against the
other, and the head in one blocked-off corner. Smells a bit musty,
because flooding is always a problem in basement apartments these
days. But it's home.

By force of habit, we are all starting the
process of taking off our clothes and stashing them in various
cubbies and drawers. Joel takes time out from this to set Samantha
up with the authent codes for our Net and tesla feeds. She clearly
enjoys the tesla feed, charging her batteries like we were just
stuffing our faces with African food.

"Here then," I say to Samantha, "you done
with the day, chile? Because you might wanna lie down. We usually
sleep lying down."

"Oh." Samantha was apparently prepared to
stand in the corner all night. Experimentally, she lowers herself
to the couch and reclines on it. "I see, yes. No need to balance
any more. Much more relaxed. Thank you."

"Good." Someone's arm reaches from the loft
bed, somebody's hand slides under my shirt and cups my breast. "You
need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine here," Samantha assures me.
"Thanks for your hospitality. Tell Joel I dig the fly plank."

"Ah, sure …" the hand is pulling my nipple,
while another hand is sneaking along the waistband of my
underpants, slipping inside. "Kind of think he busy right now …
but, you welcome to join us, chile, if you into it …"

The white plastic face looks at me, then
looks down at its own featureless crotch, and then back up at
me.

"Ah, yah."

"Good night," Samantha says quietly.

"Yah, night." I turn and roll myself into the
bed, where eager hands are pulling my clothes off, and I reach for
what body parts I can find among the intertwined bodies, and we
merge into each other with sweaty urgency.

Night

But late at night I rise into awareness, more
alert than usual at this time of night. Something's different, and
my gut knows it. I peel my face out of Darick's armpit and look
around.

In the darkened room, Samantha lies
statue-still on the couch. Couldn't be more lifeless. That's not
the difference. The difference is up in the ceiling corner, the
router patched into our cable feed with duct tape and coarse wire,
which gives us Net access. Ordinarily, at night, its monitor LED is
mostly dark with an occasional blip of light when one of our hips
needs a time check or something. But now, it's flickering so fast
it's a blur. Screaming with activity. That's not coming from any of
us meats.

Samantha isn't doing anything with her body,
but she sure is busy on the Net. Who is she talking with? What are
they saying?

I wonder, groggily, for a bit, but there are
no answers, and it's not really important. So I nestle in among the
folded bodies, and sink back into sleep.

Morning

Bacon and coffee. Smell and sound and sizzle.
I drag my face out of sleep to look around.

Darick and Samantha are standing side by
side, cooking breakfast. Both equally naked, and I have to say
Darick's muscular legs and smoothly curved back and chiseled butt
look a thousand times better than Samantha's anonymous machine
assembly. When the two of them are standing side by side.

Bacon is getting pulled from the griddle and
pressed dry, and eggs are getting fried. Samantha is monitoring the
coffee preparation with meticulous attention. Darick is deftly
sliding the bacon onto a serving dish, and comes over to me with
the platter. "Stimulus!" he enthuses.

Gods save us from morning people.

Darick stuffs a wad of hot bacon into my
mouth, and follows it up with a slap on my ass. Salty mouth, stingy
ass. Story of my life.

"Response," I groan. "Lemme be here,
mon."

"Here, coffee." Samantha smoothly offers a
cup. "Drink."

The infusion of coffee on top of the salty
bulky bacon is a strong mix, but I manage it. Salty meat rides the
wave of roasted seed. "Thank you, chile, it's good."

An inarticulate moan, and a slap, tells me
that Joel is also receiving the bacon-and-spank wakeup call from
Darick. Samantha moves to provide him with a coffee remedy.

Chung is already up and sitting on the couch,
hunched over her hip with its hoverscreen up in front of her,
typing intently, furiously. She must be blogging to her revolution
sites about Samantha and her mission to the Senate. "Cukking sons
of bitches," she mutters as she types, "never going to get
anywhere."

I look over her shoulder at
the screen, vaguely trying to see what she's writing. The title of
her blog I already know –
This Sucks, Fix
It!
All I catch is the headline: