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Elysium: Facing the Music
Chapter 1: Ostinato
June 2, 2037
And while you'll find it tough up there,
It's still tough below.
Put your feet back on the ground,
Find where some grass still grows.
Amanda Sarabi wasn't entirely comfortable with the lyrics. True, everyone in the country and beyond was talking about ArmaDyne's space torus project, a little space habitat named Elysium that according to projections, wouldn't look little at all once it was completed. But that being said, there was no way the people building it would hear her. And if people were looking for grass as a relief from orbital space platform work, Kenya wasn't really the place to look. Or really any place in Africa right now.
'Cause we're all rooting for you,
We look up to the skies.
When the moon is high at night,
And when the sun does rise.
Sotaro began a guitar riff that would end with her performing the final lyrics, complimenting Kodwa and Bongani on the drums and keyboard respectively. To jazz with the beat, to move with the music, to do everything she could to keep her job as singer. One of the few jobs left in the world that was completely free of humanoids.
So light a fire, come on down,
Come, light up my life.
Cause we're all down here waiting for,
A bit of your delight.
"Delight" was drawn out. "Delight" was what some of the bar's patrons expressed, slamming their bottles on the tables, catcalling, or even politely clapping in some places. But they were the minority, and most of them remained focussed on their grog. Or called out names at the bar's sole humanoid waiter, trying to confuse it. Or kept their eyes glued on the flatscreen as analysts debated which candidate would win the country's 2038 election.
"Thank you," Amanda cried out over the crowd. "Thank you very much. Nawapenda wote."
Some of the men whooped at that, but most remained quiet. She hung up her microphone and stepped off the stage.
"Hey girl, you call me!"
"Pussy? I got pussy! Come here pussy!"
And it went on, though thankfully, only for about half a minute. It only took her that long for her to hang up her equipment, cross the pub's floor, and enter Barbata's office.
"I thought I told you to knock."
Amanda sat down opposite his desk anyway. It was wooden, with one half of it covered in papers, the other in the remains of food, drink, and the dispensables that had been used to contain them.
"I heard you from here," Barbarta continued. "Nice voice."
"I aim to please," Amanda murmured. "But I'm not doing it for free."
"No," the man murmured. He opened one of the drawers of his desk and took out a wad of notes, all of them Kenyan shillings. "Of course not."
Amanda didn't regret that. Times were tough. In Kenya, in Africa, and in much of the world these days. Barbarta was one of those people who managed to not be affected by it, as evidenced by his bulk, that he'd managed to replace one of his waiters with a humanoid last week, and that he could afford performers in his bar. "Barbarta's Bar" as people called it, though its actual name was Michanganyiko ya Rose – "the Liquid Rose." He was someone well known, she could tell. If the reason was one that authorities might raise an eyebrow at, she was determined to be in a position where she could plea ignorance.
"Here," he said, handing her the week's pay. "Same time tomorrow night, eh?"
"Ndiyo," Amanda said, taking the money. "Bila shaka."
She got up. Yes. Of course. She'd be here tomorrow night, she told herself. And the night after that. And as long as she could until ArmaDyne or some rival company produced humanoids that could sing. And look female. And do all the other things that humans could do to keep themselves afloat. People not like Barbarta who turned round in his seat, laid back in the chair, and looked up at the flatscreen mounted on his wall, looking at text scrawling along.
Fighting continues in United Sudan…Israel-Palestine peace talks remain in limbo…Shanghai Scandal inquiry finds that-
Amanda turned away and headed out. If she wanted the reaffirmation that life was crap, she could do it at home. Or do the same in the bar proper, even as the Boa Brothers' comedy act had just started and was sending ripples of laughter throughout the crowd. She watched as one of them got out what looked like a pizza, but then put it down, claiming the joke was too "cheesy."
"Puns. Great," she murmured, even as the crowd roared with laughter.
"Inquiry – puns?"
"What?" Amanda glanced at the source of the inquiry, the humanoid looking up from the table it was polishing.
"Inquiry?" it asked again. "Puns?"
"It's a pun. You know…a bad joke? A play on words?"
"Clarify."
Amanda sighed. "Discontinue inquiry. Return to original directive."
The humanoid stared at her, leaving Amanda to wonder exactly what it thought, or if it actually possessed bona fide thought at all. Proper AI had been developed a decade ago (not that she really understood what counted as "proper") in that time, humanoids had popped up everywhere. Militaries. Industries. And just a month ago, this establishment. Barbarta had put the robot to work and dismissed Carpisco the same day. Amanda had tried to keep in touch, and had succeeded for the first two weeks until her friend decided to jump off a bridge.
"Clarify," the humanoid repeated. "Pun. Joke."
"Discontinue inquiry," Amanda said again, staring into its blank visor of its rectangular, blocky body. "Return to original directive. Clean table."
"…complying."
Amanda clenched her fists as the robot returned to its duties. A real waitress (or waiter) wouldn't need telling. A human being could be spoken to without resorting to such moronic language. A human being though, needed to be paid.
Carpisco…Christ, why'd you do it?
Even as the crowd roared in laughter at one of the Brothers' acts, Amanda kept staring. Part of her wanted to grab the automaton by the neck and shove its face in. The other, more rational part held her back – if an android didn't understand the most basic form of humour (or even fart jokes…she'd tried), then it wouldn't understand why she'd shoved its face in, and continue to ask why until the cows came home. Scowling, and still looking at the piece of junk, she kept walking to the exit.
"Um, excuse me but-"
"What?!" she yelled, turning to her side. There, she saw a young man. Younger than most of the men in the bar, and not much younger than herself. Brown eyes, short black hair, unlikely to be 21 years old. Maybe he was anticipating that the legal drinking age would be reset to 18 after the election.
"Um, I'm looking for the manager," he said. "My name's Clarke," he said. "I'm looking for the manager and-"
Amanda jabbed her thumb to the door that said "staff only."
"Uh, thanks."
Amanda took a few more steps to the door. Why the boy wanted to see Barbarta, she didn't know. And-
"Why you here?"
And she wanted to know. And despite a look of surprise, the kid answered.
"Waiter. I heard there was a waiter's job being advertised."
Amanda stared at him. Then glanced at the android. Then back at Clarke.
"Is that right?" he asked.
"Hell if I know," she murmured, realizing that maybe it wasn't so surprising after all. Carpisco was twenty-two. Obliged to get a full wage. This kid wasn't. Not for another three years at least.
So she kept walking. Out of the bar. Into the street, and the humid night.
She didn't look back.
A/N
Update (06/10/2013): Made corrections as per feedback.