Electric Sheep
Chapter 2
Even wearing soft leather boots, Rhea's footsteps echoed through the marble hallway. Briefly getting off-track of the ceremony, thinking how much it must cost to heat this place, she nearly tripped on the hem of her jet-black dress.
"At least I won't have to worry about doing that any more," she thought out loud. "Now, if I can only keep my mind on the subject! Arrgh..." Her stately pace lapsed into a near-jog, as was more natural for her, as she went over her instructions again in her head. It was not that the instructions were stogy, out-dated motions, it was just that she particularly did not want to screw this ceremony up. One slip-up and it was back to the archives for.... She didn't even know how long. It could be years until the next one took place. Thankfully, she knew that, should there be another one, she had no problem entering. Her scores impressed, and in some cases, surpassed so many of the Pantheon's members, she was an immediate candidate for the Grand Bout. Just as she was thinking of her friend's face when the scores were handed out, she snapped back to the present. Looking around, she realized she had nearly disqualified herself already. I really need to concentrate more, she thought, beginning the ceremony.
"So, Alex, which one of them is your choice?"
"Her, in the black.
"They're all in black, idiot. Now, which one is she?
"There, third for the right."
"The one with the spaced-out look?"
"Her name's Rhea, and she's not spacy."
"I know her name, Alex. I've heard you ranting about her all week, but she looks distracted."
"Well, she's not. Unless you call getting two short of a perfect score distracted."
"Two short? On the physical tests? Nobody scores that high on the first time through. It's almost inhuman."
"She didn't do as well on the written tests, I'm afraid. It's not that she's not intelligent. It's just that.... ok, she's a little distracted."
"Told you. Did she happen to get either of the questions I missed?"
"No. That's why they call them 'the two everyone misses,' Jeff. The one about the tesseracts and the one about a hyper cube."
"Why do we keep that question in there, anyway?"
"Easy. To harass the next few potential members, who in turn, harass the next..."
"One big chain'a hate, eh?"
"Yes, now quiet. The Bout's starting."
"You know, your 'pick of the litter' better be damn good with a blade. I know a few friends with a month's worth of credits on her."
"Oh, don't worry about her. Worry about her opponents. Watch."
With the combatants sat down and hooked up to their stations, the Voice of the Pantheon gave the 2 minute symbol to the players. This meant that everyone was given 2 minutes to get adjusted to the Interface-Simulated Real-Time arena and to come out swinging. Rhea wasted no time preparing herself by watching her opponents, instead of scrimmaging someone else. She studied for patterns, facial expressions, nervous tics, anything to give her a view into her opponents' minds. As the timer in the upper right of her eyesight flickered towards zero, she unsheathed the simulated kitana and kneeled to a stealthy crawl.
The playing field descended on the combatants like night in the middle of winter. Rhea was on the offensive the second the field fell around her. Gone from her disposition was the spaced look, and the distant thoughts. This was her turf and home field, of course, because she had spent more time in her own mind than in the real world.
"My god, Alex. You did it; she's perfect. Did you know all this beforehand?"
"I told you. You see how natural she is in the ISRT?"
"Yes, I did notice. Why is that?"
"Well, I've been talking to the Core about it, and he got in touch with a few brilliant minds and, well, we think it's because she's done this all the time, and just didn't have a way to show any of it except in the Tower."
"Are you kidding me? I mean, look at her. Her mental image is bigger, faster, stronger... you're telling me she's been training to be like this all her life?"
"That's what I said, didn't I?"
"I can't believe that."
"Oh, you can't? Look at her play. She's already been through scenarios like this hundreds of times in her life. When she's been ridiculed, harassed, embarrassed, doubtful... whenever someone's found a chink in her armor she's thought about this, and harbored just how she'd do it. She's been repressing it, but it's made her into a machine when she knows no real lives are at stake."
"A machine...."
Her mind was racing almost as fast as she was. She had tucked morality and second-guessing into a far corner of her mind, the part of her that still knew or cared that she was strapped to a chair in a room with a hunk of metal stuck in the base of her neck. She owned the combatants; they were hers to do as she wished. Years of being shoved around, pushed down, and cast aside came flooding through now, making her almost enjoy tripping and slashing an opponent before slipping back to the shadows. She didn't care about winning or losing anymore, or even what the members of the Pantheon thought; this was her place. She would be here even if she was cast out. Again. Her father would never care. Wait, where did that come from? She slipped out of the mode, just for a second, and it was all her unknowing victim needed to hear to start him running. Back in gear, she resolved not to let this one get away, and went back to the hunt.
"Computer," the desk sergeant barked, "what's the status of that punk on 5th and Elm?"
"Officers report the suspect is in a local detention unit. The suspect is 5' 8'', Caucasian, male, and believed to be Dennis Derhite, though suspect will not confirm."
"Get me a confirmation of that, pronto. Pull up anything you can, ID, credit chits, birth records, you know the drill. Anything else I should be aware of?"
"Yes, Sergeant. The Caesar is going to be making a public announcement on the advancement of the AI race this coming week. It might be wise to attend."
"I'll look into it. Thank you, computer."
"You're welcome, Sergeant."
Chapter 2
Even wearing soft leather boots, Rhea's footsteps echoed through the marble hallway. Briefly getting off-track of the ceremony, thinking how much it must cost to heat this place, she nearly tripped on the hem of her jet-black dress.
"At least I won't have to worry about doing that any more," she thought out loud. "Now, if I can only keep my mind on the subject! Arrgh..." Her stately pace lapsed into a near-jog, as was more natural for her, as she went over her instructions again in her head. It was not that the instructions were stogy, out-dated motions, it was just that she particularly did not want to screw this ceremony up. One slip-up and it was back to the archives for.... She didn't even know how long. It could be years until the next one took place. Thankfully, she knew that, should there be another one, she had no problem entering. Her scores impressed, and in some cases, surpassed so many of the Pantheon's members, she was an immediate candidate for the Grand Bout. Just as she was thinking of her friend's face when the scores were handed out, she snapped back to the present. Looking around, she realized she had nearly disqualified herself already. I really need to concentrate more, she thought, beginning the ceremony.
"So, Alex, which one of them is your choice?"
"Her, in the black.
"They're all in black, idiot. Now, which one is she?
"There, third for the right."
"The one with the spaced-out look?"
"Her name's Rhea, and she's not spacy."
"I know her name, Alex. I've heard you ranting about her all week, but she looks distracted."
"Well, she's not. Unless you call getting two short of a perfect score distracted."
"Two short? On the physical tests? Nobody scores that high on the first time through. It's almost inhuman."
"She didn't do as well on the written tests, I'm afraid. It's not that she's not intelligent. It's just that.... ok, she's a little distracted."
"Told you. Did she happen to get either of the questions I missed?"
"No. That's why they call them 'the two everyone misses,' Jeff. The one about the tesseracts and the one about a hyper cube."
"Why do we keep that question in there, anyway?"
"Easy. To harass the next few potential members, who in turn, harass the next..."
"One big chain'a hate, eh?"
"Yes, now quiet. The Bout's starting."
"You know, your 'pick of the litter' better be damn good with a blade. I know a few friends with a month's worth of credits on her."
"Oh, don't worry about her. Worry about her opponents. Watch."
With the combatants sat down and hooked up to their stations, the Voice of the Pantheon gave the 2 minute symbol to the players. This meant that everyone was given 2 minutes to get adjusted to the Interface-Simulated Real-Time arena and to come out swinging. Rhea wasted no time preparing herself by watching her opponents, instead of scrimmaging someone else. She studied for patterns, facial expressions, nervous tics, anything to give her a view into her opponents' minds. As the timer in the upper right of her eyesight flickered towards zero, she unsheathed the simulated kitana and kneeled to a stealthy crawl.
The playing field descended on the combatants like night in the middle of winter. Rhea was on the offensive the second the field fell around her. Gone from her disposition was the spaced look, and the distant thoughts. This was her turf and home field, of course, because she had spent more time in her own mind than in the real world.
"My god, Alex. You did it; she's perfect. Did you know all this beforehand?"
"I told you. You see how natural she is in the ISRT?"
"Yes, I did notice. Why is that?"
"Well, I've been talking to the Core about it, and he got in touch with a few brilliant minds and, well, we think it's because she's done this all the time, and just didn't have a way to show any of it except in the Tower."
"Are you kidding me? I mean, look at her. Her mental image is bigger, faster, stronger... you're telling me she's been training to be like this all her life?"
"That's what I said, didn't I?"
"I can't believe that."
"Oh, you can't? Look at her play. She's already been through scenarios like this hundreds of times in her life. When she's been ridiculed, harassed, embarrassed, doubtful... whenever someone's found a chink in her armor she's thought about this, and harbored just how she'd do it. She's been repressing it, but it's made her into a machine when she knows no real lives are at stake."
"A machine...."
Her mind was racing almost as fast as she was. She had tucked morality and second-guessing into a far corner of her mind, the part of her that still knew or cared that she was strapped to a chair in a room with a hunk of metal stuck in the base of her neck. She owned the combatants; they were hers to do as she wished. Years of being shoved around, pushed down, and cast aside came flooding through now, making her almost enjoy tripping and slashing an opponent before slipping back to the shadows. She didn't care about winning or losing anymore, or even what the members of the Pantheon thought; this was her place. She would be here even if she was cast out. Again. Her father would never care. Wait, where did that come from? She slipped out of the mode, just for a second, and it was all her unknowing victim needed to hear to start him running. Back in gear, she resolved not to let this one get away, and went back to the hunt.
"Computer," the desk sergeant barked, "what's the status of that punk on 5th and Elm?"
"Officers report the suspect is in a local detention unit. The suspect is 5' 8'', Caucasian, male, and believed to be Dennis Derhite, though suspect will not confirm."
"Get me a confirmation of that, pronto. Pull up anything you can, ID, credit chits, birth records, you know the drill. Anything else I should be aware of?"
"Yes, Sergeant. The Caesar is going to be making a public announcement on the advancement of the AI race this coming week. It might be wise to attend."
"I'll look into it. Thank you, computer."
"You're welcome, Sergeant."