Some minor changes to a previous story.
Maxine walked down the wide, empty streets, alone and lost in her thoughts, moving at a listless pace. Her clothing changed its shape and colours, making subtle adjustments as she moved, reflecting her mood. It concealed her figure as, bitterly, she scorned the world around her, and blended with her environment as she wished for nothing more than to simply disappear for a while. Her top draped loosely around her shoulders, like a shawl, and reached up to cover her face like a scarf. Her skirt reached down to her ankles, and flapped freely around them as she walked. Even her shoes – like running shoes, but with no laces and lacking any designs; simple, white and inconspicuous – softened their soles to nullify her footsteps, easily heard in the near-total silence that pervaded this part of town.
She stopped, and stuffed her hands into deep, newly-formed pockets, just listening for a moment. Even as cars flew by, far overhead, there was scarcely any noise to be heard. The vaguely eerie near-silence made her somewhat uneasy. This was a city of millions, and yet, there were places that made it seem as though there was nothing alive on the entire planet. In places like these, she thought, it seemed as though a person could simply vanish. She leaned against a near-by wall, as pristine and colourless as the street, and looked up, watching the distant cars fly by in neat, orderly lines. They all moved at the same speed, and they were all the same safe distance apart, as though guided by some kind of invisible railway. And, in a sense, they were guided by an invisible force, as human drivers had long since become a thing of the past. She watched them as they passed, totally oblivious to the streets below them as they made their daily journey to and from the myriad of skyscrapers on the horizon, and wondered, idly, if anyone would miss her if she did somehow disappear. Or if anyone would even notice.
She sighed and slid down the wall, sitting on the straight, smooth sidewalk and shutting her eyes. Places like these were so isolated, so lonely. They reminded her of how incredibly alone she often felt. And yet, the crowded areas always seemed worse, somehow. Getting lost in a crowd of strangers, their minds and attention always far away, preoccupied with something far more interesting than walking, all marching to some mysterious rhythm that forever seemed to elude her understanding… It was an easy way to feel insignificant, irrelevant. Like one white pixel in a spread of billions, all culminating in a titanic blank slate. Here, at least, she was an individual.
Quietly, she sighed, and reluctantly opened her eyes just a crack. Something small, soft and round gently bobbed its way past her, moving along at an unhurried pace. It looked like a metallic tumbleweed, though that was where the similarities ended. It rolled, and sometimes hopped, down the street by its own volition, free from the influence of any breeze and guided only by the objectives handed down to it by the same invisible force that guided the cars along their routes.
Each bounce released thousands of microscopic robots that were housed inside it, putting them to work cleaning up the dust, the chipping paint and the rare few bits of litter that could be found on the street. And once they were done, they flew back to their tumbling nest, ready to deploy again. She watched it roll by, then shut here eyes again. The streets matter, she thought. But do I?
Abruptly, there was a noise. Though soft and somewhat distant, in comparison to the faint white noise of the cars it was a strong and clear. She opened her eyes as the scarf-like fabric around her face and neck folded over itself, slithering along the side of her face and forming a cup around her ear. She heard a man’s voice, though she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. There was also music, playing quietly in the background as he spoke. Surprised and intrigued, she got to her feet and eagerly hurried towards the source of the noise, the fabric around her ear sliding onto her shoulder and simply disappearing into it.
Her long, black hair spread wildly behind her as she ran. She passed by dozens of old little buildings, tightly packed together, dimly lit and with shuttered doors and windows all pristine and intact. What little colour remained on their various signs was faded, and all the rest was grayscale. She rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. Across the street, among the continuous chain of shuttered, gray buildings, was a disruption. She stared, mesmerized by this almost otherworldly concentration of bright, warm lights and rich, varied colours. She wandered closer and was met by a distinct and enticing scent that, while it tugged at distant memories in the back of her mind, remained unknown to her.
A single, wooden table with two matching chairs was set out in front, on a terrace of sorts, flanked by two long rows of empty flowerbeds. The terrace led into a small building, indistinct in its shape or size from those that surrounded it, but standing out dramatically in almost every other way. Its wide windows and large, glass doors lacked any kind of shutter. The interior was well-lit and filled with the vibrant colours of its wooden walls and flooring. A large sign at the top of the building read – in bold, white letters against a dark green background – “CAFÉ.” Abruptly, memories came flooding back to her. That scent, it was fresh coffee.
A staple of a bygone era, hardly anybody seemed to drink it anymore. People no longer craved that burst of energy it provided, and the enormous farms that had grown the beans had long ago closed down and faded away. Still, every now and then, someone caught up in nostalgia or romantic feelings for the previous era would manage to brew up a fresh cup or two. Max recalled fond memories of sharing a cup with her great-grandfather many years ago, when she’d been just a small girl. That was when she’d first started taking an interest in the pre-transition world. Had it not been for that coffee, she might never have found the street she was currently on.
The voice and the music were coming from a TV: a rectangular screen, almost two-dimensional, hovering in place, in mid-air, next to the singular table. A news anchor was displayed on it, speaking into the camera, giving a preface to the upcoming story. She hadn’t watched the news in months, if not years, though she recognized the anchor. But hadn’t he retired many years ago?
She pulled out one of the chairs, sat down, and took a moment to look around. In the pre-transition world, she had learned, sitting at a table like this, at a place like this, had been considered a privilege of sorts. Something earned and traded for, and yet, taken for granted. And now, the whole experience was obsolete. Interesting to no one, except perhaps to her. She stared into the table, she absently picking at the newly-formed buttons on her shirt. Her clothes had rearranged themselves again, as she had been running. Her loose, shawl-like top had formed into a short-sleeved, collared blouse, and her skirt had shortened to her knees, though their colours still took cues from the environment. Her previously gray top, of an ambiguous texture and material, was now auburn and silky, with her skirt turning a darker shade, matching the table and chairs. In another time and place, she might have worried about getting cold, but the weather always seemed to be mild, and even the wind seemed to have forgotten about old streets like these.
A number of questions ran through her mind, though none of them seemed to have a clear answer. Why was this place active? Why was it alone? After a moment, the TV caught her attention.
“… We are joined now by Dr. Marika Tsung, a leading expert in the field of A.I. research. How are you, doctor?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“As I understand it, you were among those chiefly responsible for the creation and implementation of the ‘Master Control’ A.I. system ten years ago.”
Maxine scratched her head. This news was very, very old. What was it doing on TV?
“For those of you who don’t know, ‘The System,’ as it is commonly referred to, is an advanced resource-management advisement program that takes in information from every government-run or affiliated factory from around the country and calculates the most efficient possible means of operating these facilities and distributing their products, displaying its results to the President. It is set to revolutionize the field of logistics, as I understand it.”
“Hardly. The capacity of Master Control goes far beyond logistics the optimization of factories. It takes in much more information than that and comes up with far more in-depth solutions. Oh, and that’s a common misconception, actually. The System does not give advice. At least, not anymore. These days, it simply takes action.”
There is an uncomfortable pause.
“What are you saying, exactly?”
“What I’m saying is, Master Control has been operating autonomously for the past nine years.”
The sound of wooden chair legs lightly scraping against the floor of the terrace abruptly took her attention away from the screen. And then, to her surprise, there was someone sitting across from her. A young woman, much like herself.
She wore a white dress shirt, stiff and fully buttoned up, along with black, pleated skirt. She made eye-contact only very briefly, offering a shy smile before quickly glancing away, but her brown eyes seemed somehow kind and sympathetic. Her short, brown hair was tied back in a tight bun, completing the look that went with her demeanour; formal but unassuming.
“Hello,” said the woman, uncertainly. “I’m Lana.”
“Maxine. Er, Max. Hi,” she replied.
A short silence followed, and the TV could be heard clearly again.
“Are you saying we’re no longer in control of our own destinies?”
“I’ve never really believed in destiny, to be honest.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, doctor.”
“Very well then. The short answer is simply ‘yes.’ I think you’d be surprised at how predictable we humans can be.”
“So, um,” began Lana. “Is this your place, or…?”
Max shook her head. “I was going to ask if it was yours.”
“I was just out for a walk. Then I stumbled onto this place,” said Lana.
“You were just walking around?” asked Max. “All the way out here?”
She herself often walked around places like these, though this was the first time she’d ever met anyone else doing the same. It would be nice, she thought, to have someone to go on walks with.
“I kinda like Old World streets like these,” said Lana. “They’re always so isolated and quiet, like they’ve been totally forgotten by the rest of the world.” The way she described them, wistfully and affectionately, the empty streets sounded like a wonderful place. Max watched as Lana’s bun seemed to loosen itself, letting her hair hang loosely by the sides of her head.
“I’ve always thought of these as sad places, personally,” ventured Max. “There used to be so many people here, all the time, back when people used money. Now there’s never anyone around, so the streets just seem… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess.”
“You think streets get lonely?” said Lana.
“Well, I mean…” Max put a hand on the collar of her shirt, preventing it from reaching up her neck to hide her reddening cheeks. “Is that stupid?” she asked, tentatively.
Lana shook her head and laughed. “Maybe they are lonely,” she said. “But at least we’re here, right?” She smiled and, relieved, Max smiled back.
Lana’s dress shirt loosened and changed, forming a yellow t-shirt with a slight dip at the neckline as her skirt changed into blue denim jeans. Max’s blouse changed too, losing its buttons and changing to a light shade of sky blue, with her skirt turning white to match.
There was a pause, and the TV cut in again, briefly distracting the both of them.
“If what you’re saying is true, and we’re now all living under some kind of… Machine dictator-”
“That’s such a crude and small-minded way to envision it.”
“Yes, well, regardless, what kind of life can we expect under the influence of The System?”
“Let me put it to you this way: human happiness, human well-being, is as important a resource as any other, so far as Master Control is concerned. Expect it to be managed efficiently.”
“Hey…” began Max, slowly turning away from the TV. “Since this isn’t my place, and it isn’t yours, do you think… ?”
“Do I think an omnipresent, omniscient, artificial superintelligence…” Lana said, starting to laugh, albeit uncertainly. “Set all of this up? Come on, that’d be crazy!” she said. A moment later, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she added, in a quiet voice, “right?”
“Yeah, of course,” said Max, shaking her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence. I mean, why would it do that for me? Just because I was feeling a little down, a little alone…”
She trailed off, but after a moment, Lana spoke up.
“A little isolated, irrelevant, lost…” she concluded, softly. “Maybe it wasn’t just for you.”
Max pursed her lips, briefly, then spoke up. “Whatever all this is,” she said. “I’m really glad to have met you. It’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.”
“Yeah,” said Lana. “Likewise.”
A little drone pushed its way out of the café’s wide, glass doors. It was, essentially, just a long, white tray. It had four small rotors, one on each corner, with a little camera at the front of its underside, behind which was an extendable arm with a small claw at its end. Balancing delicately on the tray, were two cups of coffee.
The drone floated its way over to the table and placed both cups on the table, one for both of its occupants. Max and Lana watched, wordlessly, as it then turned around and went back inside. And shortly after, the lights in the café went out.
A Straightforward Enigma 