Jimson insisted on having the Shrill cage up on top of the tourbus, so the three of them shivered in the chill mist that wrapped the northern side of Los Angeles. Tiphani Mirate thought of going down below into the warm leather comfort of the interior, but she didn’t want to leave the Shrill alone with Jimson.
The boy had been in his own bed this morning, mildly disappointing but also smart. He didn’t want to assume. He didn’t want to read something in that wasn’t there. And he was probably deathly afraid of his position, with the new-minted staff pin the only thing that separated him from another long indenture at a less prestigious company. Winfinity’s indentures were the longest in the WOW, but Staff at Winfinity had better benefits than Manager at most other companies. You were part of the largest corporation in the fifty-three known worlds, and it paid off.
She shivered and didn’t pay too much attention to the ride until they were on Hollywood Boulevard, going past the restored Chinese Theater and the ruins of the big shopping-mall there, and Jimson started speaking with the Shrill.
“This is a very famous location where movies were made,” he said. “Entertainment’s an important part of being human.”
“Jimson,” Tiphani hissed. “What are you doing?”
“I think the translation algorithms may be very bad. Hence the misunderstanding.”
Tiphani frowned, considering. If he was right, it would explain a lot. But where did he get the idea?
“Is this area of vanquished life (competitors)?
“No.”
“Not understanding.”
“I thought you might want some insight into humanity.”
“Insight is necessary.”
“Good. Movies are linear sequences of events which never happened that humans experience for entertainment.”
“Something event not-happen record why?”
“Entertainment.”
“Meaning garbled.”
Jimson looked at Tiphani. She nodded for him to continue.
“You don’t have entertainment?”
“No desire to experience (live) what did not happen.”
“You spoke of songs,” Tiphani said.
“Songs yes of competitors well-met and bested (consumed).”
“So these songs are historical? They actually happened?”
“Some happening still.” The Shrill banged once against its cage, hard, then went completely still.
Jimson opened his mouth to say something else, but Tiphani held up her hand and shook her head for silence. “I see what you mean,” she whispered. “Go ahead and order additional algorithmic work on my account.”
“AI?”
Tiphani just looked at him.
A grin. “I had to ask.”
The Los Angeles Zoo had been warned about them, so big Winfinity banners were flying across the entrance to the parking lot, and a small group of families who had hoped for an outing shook their fists at them as they drove past. Obviously no Perpetuals there, and even if there were Chiefs, none were higher than her, at least not for today. Not with the chance of winning all, winning a true infinity.
The morning mists had burned off, and it was a bright blue-sky day. The kind of day when Tiphani might even believe, just for a moment, that if she delivered the gift of true life everlasting she might be allowed to share. A rare handout to one who was not smart enough or ruthless enough to deserve it. But one who had been their faithful servant, one who had earned the one exception to their rule.
She thought this as they got the Shrill down on the ground and past the terrified babbling ticket-takers, realistically dressed in faux ranger outfits, wearing their own bright little Winfinity badges. Indentures, of course, but on their path to greatness.
See us, she thought, and hope we succeed. Because if we do, Winfinity’s ladder ascends ever higher, and you may have a chance to scale it to the top.
They stopped at a cluster of signs, done in authentic Safari fashion out of natural wood, artificially aged in a graceful way to give the appearance of having been wrested whole from an African savannah after thirty years of fierce sun and wind-driven dust. One pointed towards the Reptile Room, others to the Primate Pit, the Bear Bog, the Barney Bubble, the Wild Wilderness, and the Cat Convention. Little picture-icons below them showed the animals that were really there. The Cat Convention was apparently tigers or lions or some kind of big cats. The Barney Bubble showed a purple dinosaur, a Great Dane caricature, and a cat wearing a hat. Tiphani shook her head. The ad-blurb last night had said nothing about synthetics.
“Where would you like to go, ambassador?” she asked, bowing towards the box. The Shrill rushed up the side, snapping at her with its underfangs. She cursed and drew back.
“Most impressive competitors (life) hardest to vanquish,” it said.
“Cat Convention,” Jimson said.
She nodded. They walked along ancient concrete paths, punctuated by shuttered carts. Apparently the vendors had been given the day off. Tiphani noted this on her optilink, to be filed as a complaint if the need arose.
The Cat Convention was a big swatch of realistic-looking grassland bounded by the flickering unreality of scrims, amped by piped-in sound that simulated strange insects and abstract rustlings. Let your eyes go soft and unfocussed, and you might think you were in Africa for a few moments.
A pride of lions lay directly in front of them, a big shaggy male and his harem of five females. They panted and scanned for game with the big slow-motion seriousness of a powerful Chief, looking bored, knowing they were the masters there.
“These are former competitors (life)?” the shrill asked.
“Yes,” Tiphani said. “We used to compete with these animals for food.”
“Good, noted. You preserve (sing) them in original state?”
“Biodiversity is good business practice.”
“Garbled meaning.”
“Yes, they are still alive.”
The Shrill froze. Tiphani counted the seconds, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
“Interesting practice. Is it possible to converse (speak) with it?”
“They do not have a spoken language.”
“Understood. Please more.”
They took the Shrill to the Bear Bog, where they caught glimpses of a couple of huge grizzlies, set amongst the synthetic odors of an imagined Oregon, and the Wild Wilderness, where another slice of Africa with wildebeest and giraffes was set next to an American great plains scene with buffalo and deer, and finally to the Primate Pit, where the Shrill went still for almost a minute, then came back with:
“These appear to have a similar body (structure) as human.”
“They are primates, like us.”
“I must converse (speak) with them.”
Tiphani shook her head. “I’m sorry, they don’t have a spoken language either. Some of them once learned sign language, though.”
“They did?” Jimson said.
“None in this zoo.”
“I cannot communicate with these?”
“No.”
“Beginning to understand magnitude of human achievements.”
“What does that mean?”
“These are not worthy (good) competitors. Assume mentality much less than human.”
“They’re animals,” Tiphani said, shrugging. “They don’t have a human-level brain.”
“But are sentient?”
“Not really,” she said.
“No or yes?”
“No.”
The Shrill ran back and forth across its cage, bouncing off the sides, thrashing its underfangs. It was little more than a blur. The booming of it ricocheting off the sides was loud in the primate room. The chimpanzees watched with big serious brown eyes that were almost judgmental.
“No competitors shown sentient?”
“No.”
“None ever?”
“No. I thought you wanted to see . . .”
“Starbucks yesterday human thing (entity)?”
“I don’t . . .”
“What showed yesterday human? Manned by humans?”
“Yes.”
“But it was a competitor (alternate).”
“Yes.”
The shrill stopped at the side of the cage nearest Tiphani. She could almost swear it was looking at her. “You have no sentient life competitors. Compete with yourselves. Accurate statement?”
“Yes, that’s accurate.”
The Shrill dropped and froze. Tiphani waited for long seconds, then turned to Jimson. “I wonder what that was all about?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t like it.”
Seconds became minutes. Minutes dragged.
“Maybe we should have shown it the barneys and scoobys,” Jimson said.
“I think that would have confused it further.”
“I hope . . .”
Jimson broke off as the Shrill twitched. It made some experimental moves around the cage, as if trying on its body again, and said, “You compete with yourselves. You sing of vanquishing yourselves.”
“Is this a problem?” Tiphani said.
“It is very great disturbance (problem). Not integating. Need time. Please take me back to waiting-place (room).”
“Ambassador, if we have offended you . . .”
“Offense due to existence. Must consider disillusion. Songs (wars) contaminated. Please return to waiting-place.”
The Shrill went still and said no more.
###
February 13th, 2009 / Comments Off