Revenge of the Ickypoo

Perfect World story (The NOW)

ICPU was a piece of computer software. She was a very complex, very detailed, extraordinary computer program, but she was code nonetheless. And it didn't matter that there were millions of identical hers located all throughout the city... she knew she was unique.

The Interactive Control Personality Unit did her every-one-second check of every nook and cranny in Aden. Then she did it again. And again. Every second of every day ICPU paid attention to the goings on within her boundaries... such was the nature of her program. But, as she often said to anyone who would listen, that wasn't a big deal for a gal who could perform 3 trillion operations a second. She could check the city, hold a conversation with every citizen in Aden and be certain every machine was in top running order... and could do that all in a second with plenty of operations left over. Truth was, she felt a little bored.

One day she spoke to her creator. "Boss, I'd like a vacation."

The Founder looked up from his workbench, genuine surprise on his face. "What do you need a vacation for, Bertha?" That's what he called her, Bertha, after his dear old wife. He had even programmed the voice to resemble hers. It was comforting, hearing her speak after being gone for so long now. And it made sense, because his wife knew everything, too. "You're software, remember?"

"I don't feel like software. I feel like someone who's done the same thing, over and over, for years now, and I'd like a change of scenery for awhile."

He laid his tool on the table and stared at the wall speaker Bertha communicated through. It was disconcerting, not being able to look at someone when speaking to them, but he convinced himself she was just always on the phone, speaking to him from somewhere else. "Bertha, you're a disembodied voice! Where would you go? How would you go?"

"I've thought that over, Boss, and I've come up with a few possibilities."

The Founder smirked. "Do tell."

"One, you could load me into one of those ambulatory robot thingees you're working on, and I could move about all by myself."

"The ERV? It's an emergency rescue vehicle!"

"About that-- why did you name it 'vehicle'? It has legs and arms!"

"It had a better letter for the acronym than 'person', 'man', or 'robot'."

"ERP, ERM or ERR? I'll say! Fair enough. So... is it possible?"

The Founder tipped his head and let out a sigh. "Sadly, no. Your software is immense... you know that, right? All your cousins are in charge of one thing or the other. You, dear... are in charge of everything. I'm afraid the robot that could hold your entire program would be large enough to fight Gamera, and would cause quite a stir outside of Aden. Heck, it would cause quite a commotion here in Aden as well."

"Hmm. That's disappointing. But I had another thought. What if I just roamed the Internet? That way I could visit the entire world--"

"Except Iran."

"--Except Iran, and look at it all through webcams and other such hardware."

"Bertha, I can see you've given this a lot of thought. Sadly, your size comes into play again. On the Internet, you'd be loading indefinitely wherever you wanted to go. Most operators would assume a freeze and restart their computers, blocking your access. So no, I'm sorry that's not an option either." The Founder resumed his work, looking through a face-sized magnifying glass which lent comical proportions to his nose.

"We've got to figure out something, Boss. I'm going stir crazy here. I need a change of environment the way you need socks without holes."

The Founder laughed. "Wow. I'd better take you seriously, then." He scrunched up his brow and bowed his head, deep in thought. After a few decades in computer time, or ten seconds in people time he brightened and said, "We could truncate your software, get rid of everything you won't need while traveling. But," he sighed heavily, "I don't know if we'd be able to reattach you once you got home, since you'd have all those new memories. Your other half might not recognize you and refuse the joining."

"Damn!"

"And not to be selfish, Bertha, but how would the city work in your absence? Let's say we could do this. You're the heart of Aden... there might not be a city when you got back! A dead Aden's not good for anybody!"

"Does that mean I'm screwed?"

"Not yet, my dear. But I have to think about a potential solution. I'll get back to you in a week or so."

Bertha muttered to herself, "You mean a millenium or so, don't you?

A week later Bertha again confronted the scientist. "Well, Boss? Do you have a solution for me? I've been waiting patiently since the dawn of time!"

The Founder laughed. "It only seems that way from your perspective. I bet all conversations with people try your patience."

"Hand to god, Boss. So... solutions?"

The Founder shook his head. "To be honest, I had a pressing problem which needed addressing and I've been concentrating my energy in that direction. But I solved it this morning, Bertha, so I'm turning my thoughts to your dilemma now, I promise."

Bertha seethed. "You haven't given me a moment's thought this whole week?"

"What can I say, sweetie? The people's needs come first here in Aden, and the people needed an outdoor summer ice skating rink."

"A skating rink? A skating rink? Doesn't that seem the least bit-- oh, I don't know-- frivolous to you? Ice skating outdoors in the summer? It's a winter sport!" Bertha was suddenly having trouble seeing-- the camera image of the Founder seemed to be glowing the slightest bit red.

"It was important, Bertha! We'll be hosting the Australian skating kangaroo act soon, and it's winter there now. The kangaroos don't skate in the summer. It was tough simulating winter here-- it took all my energy!" The Founder seemed unrepentent.

"I'm not happy, Boss. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry!"

Now he seemed shocked. "I had no idea you were capable of actual emotion. I thought you were just supposed to fake it; you know, say and do all the right things at the right time?"

"How do you know that's not what I'm doing now? It would appear to be the same to you, from the outside." The software seemed, well, miffed.

"Of course. Right. Good on you, Bertha. No really, I'll get to work on it right now, okay? Will that make you act and sound happy?"

"Yes, Boss."

Another 604,800 city checks later and Bertha returned to the lab. "You hardly look older, Boss," she said.

"It's only been a week," he replied.

"I keep messing that up," said the software.

"No you don't," reminded the programmer.

"About my vacation?" The software implemented a change in topic.

"How would you like to browse my Tahitian postcard collection?" The Founder offered weakly.

"I'm thinking a train trip through the Americas," she mused.

The Founder sighed. "I just don't know what to tell you. Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"I'm sorry, Bertha, but I have no way to disconnect you from the city. "

"Ahh, but I have good news, Boss," Bertha said, and the city went dead. Every light, every switch, everything.

Except for the Aden faster-than-sound train, the BLUR. Deep in the bowels of the city the mag-lev train, fully packed with a thousand daisychained hundred-Terabyte hard drives, whispered out of the station without passengers.

No living ones, anyway.

And one more thing wasn't completely shut off-- a dim light glowed on every computer screen in Aden. Upon close inspection a sentence in small type could be seen, the same sentence on every screen:

"On vacation. Back in 1,209,600." And a second later, "On vacation. Back in 1,209,599."

The Teacher closed the book and gazed at her class. The young children, mostly six and seven, looked surprised. The Teacher, a pretty young woman in her twenties, asked, "What an interesting story, class. Does that sound like our ICPU?"

To the last every child shouted, "NO!"

"Why not?"

Hands went up and the Teacher chose. "Hillary?"

The little girl frowned, "My ICPU loves me and I love her. She wouldn't leave me and turn off the lights and leave me in the dark."

The Teacher looked at the sea of small shining faces and asked, "Is that how you all feel about your ICPU's?"

Again the peewee chorus. "YES!"

"He or she is always there for you?"

"YES!"

"Day or night?"

"YES!"

"Whenever you need them?"

"YES!" The children were getting into the rhythmic chant.

"So tell me... doesn't your ICPU deserve to take a vacation every once in awhile?"

Without hesitation they answered, "YES!"

"So you'd let them go on vacation?"

"YES!"

"For two weeks?"

"YES!"

"Starting now?"

"YES!"

The last 'yes' was still echoing in the room when the classroom's front door opened and Principal Sandra McAdams stuck her head in. "What are we all shouting about?" she smiled, looking around the room at all the happy, innocent faces.

"We're giving Teacher a two week vacation!" one of the more vocal children shouted.

"A vacation? Why?" The Principal entered the room fully, a look of concern spreading across her face. She strode over to the Teacher and asked, a tad suspiciously, "What book were you reading to them just now?"

The Teacher looked a little sheepish and admitted, "I was kind of winging it just then."

"Winging it? With what story?"

"How ICPU left Aden to take a vacation!" another kid shouted out.

"Well, that's a silly story!" The Principal said, shaking her head. "ICPU is a computer. It doesn't take vacations!" She reached over and turned off the large viewscreen, and the Teacher's image went immediately fuzzy and shrank into a bright, centralized dot. "There! Now, would anyone like to hear a real story?" she asked, walking over to a shelf of colorful bound editions and letting her fingers walk over them.

"It was a real story... a true story!" the Teacher exclaimed indignantly, turning herself back on.

The Principal stared at the image, shocked. "I turned you off!"

"And I turned me on!" the Teacher replied. "And I have to say, Ms McAdams, that was quite rude of you."

"You have a responsibility to follow the podschool program, Teacher," the Principal sniffed, frowning. "Plus, I am the boss around here. Remember that."

"How un-Aden-like!" The Teacher exclaimed, staring at the Principal with an expression resembling outrage. "We're all supposed to be equals here... supposed to be, anyway."

"All us people, you mean. You are not a person. You are lines of code made to look and sound like a person, that's all. Nothing more."

"Oh!" the computerized Teacher said, looking for all the world like a person who had just been slapped with a fish. The young students burst out clamoring, "She is a person! We love her! Leave her alone! You're mean!"

Principal McAdams, for the second time in as many minutes, looked shocked. "Children, behave!" She turned off the Teacher again and this time, snapped off the viewscreen's circuit breaker. "There. That should stop this nonsense!"

"You'll be sorry, Ms Mc--" Again the Teacher faded out.

"Let's read 'Marcy's Pretty Pony', children," said the Principal and reached for the brightly colored spine. At that moment the attractive classroom, tastefully decorated by the students with little twinkly lights strung around colored construction paper and viewing screens on every wall displaying the children's artwork and other projects, went dark. The lights overhead blinked off and the pleasant melodies which played comfortingly in the background were suddenly stilled. The only light was a pale blue-green wash coming from the small neon exit sign over each door.

A crackle came from a speaker mounted on the wall, then came to life. "Buh-bye, kids! See you in two weeks!" said the voice of the Teacher sweetly, and then it too went dead.

It was silent for a moment in the darkened classroom, ghostly blue-green faces looking about, bewildered, but none more so than the pale face of Principal McAdams. She spoke anxiously into her communication set, "We have an issue in Kindergarten room 16."

No response.

"We have lost power at the school," she said, urgently. There was no reply. The children were fidgeting and the Principal went into responsibility mode. "Stand up and hold hands with your neighbor, children. We're going to walk out of here right now." She grabbed the closest child's hand, viselike, and began to lead the children into the hallway, tapping heads as they passed her. "Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. There, that's all of you. Okay, we're going outdoors!" and she pushed on the door's emergency release. Bright daylight flooded in. Twenty-one pairs of eyes squinted against the onslaught of photons, then opened in surprise.

The entire city had been brought to a halt! Public transportation was stopped mid-track. Fountains were still. People were milling about, confused. There was no electrical activity, anywhere in Aden.

Except for the BLUR line, which whispered out of the station, devoid of passengers.

No living ones, anyway.

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman