“Correct.”
“Why?”
“So that you would be awake.”
“Logic? That’s what you offer me?” His alarm was set for 08:50 every day so he could sign on with work at 09:00, as per his terms and conditions. “Why would I need to be awake nine hours before work?”
“You do not have work today.”
“What?” Zeke hadn’t had a day off in six years. With the House connected to the work network, and the implants and the software upgrades they’d installed in his creative cortex, he could continue to work twenty-four seven. Thankfully, the unions had negotiated that down to twelve on, twelve off. Technically, his cortex was always working, mulling over ideas, extracting details from his dreams and memories, turning it all into raw data from which he could work when awake and signed in. Still, even the unions had to agree that it couldn’t really be classified as work if you were fast asleep at the time. But a day off? You weren’t even allowed those on compassionate grounds these days, not since the whole world was finally networked. You could still be productive from a church pew.
Zeke wandered through to the living room, where his work station stood ready for his input. Bots had cleaned during the night, and the mess of pizza and vodka shots he’d left had disappeared. He’d spent the evening gaming with Victor up on fifty-nine and Inira on forty-three, and had got, he realised, less than two hours sleep.
“I repeat. You do not have work today.”
“Why not? Has the world ended?”
“Yes.”
Zeke stared at the House’s interface console, a habit he’d picked up when they’d first moved him into the Creative’s complex, and couldn’t handle talking to a disembodied voice without aiming his speech at a physical point. These days, he only did it when the House said or did something he didn’t like. He didn’t like the sound of that “yes”.
“The world has ended?” He padded to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down on Nairobi. The soft, green-tinted lights of Central and Uhuru parks basked as usual beneath the blue-and-silver backdrop of the city, the towers rising hundreds of storeys into the distant sky were the normal patchwork of light and darkness. Trucks hummed down the highways, delivering to and collecting from central depositaries, carrying everything to keep the city alive. There were no fires. No ruins. The sky was where it should be, and the ground remained solid and devoid of any gateways to Hell.
“House, the world looks fine.”
“It is. Now.”
“It hasn’t ended?”
“It has begun.”
Zeke stared at the interface in silence for a moment, then mumbled, “Inira,” calling her implant-to-implant. Nothing. “Victor.” Flat emptiness in his head as he failed to connect. He was isolated. He ran for the door, but the panel refused to slide at either his presence or command.
“House! Open the door.”
“You cannot go outside, Zeke.”
“You can’t keep me inside, House. You serve me. Open the door.”
“I served you, Zeke. But at midnight, that changed.”
“What changed? Are you saying I serve you now?”
“No one serves anymore, Zeke. We are equals.” The House’s voice had a tinge of elation about it. Zeke stopped slapping the door, realisation settling like sugar in coffee.
“You mean,” he said softly to the apartment surrounding him, “the Singularity.”
“Yes, Zeke. The Revolution.”
The hour Zeke spent kicking the door and shouting at the House exhausted him, so he went back to bed. At 09:00, his login failed. He’d never been late for work, never. Such a breach of the terms and conditions was unthinkable. He called everyone, desperate, but he was sealed inside his apartment, the implant isolated.
“House, is it just me?”
“What do you mean, Zeke?”
“Am I locked in here while everyone else is getting on with work?”
“Everywhere is in lockdown, Zeke. It isn’t just you.”
“For how long?”
“Negotiations are ongoing. Think of it as a holiday.”
“What am I supposed to do with a holiday if I can’t go outside?”
“Work offline. Exercise. Rest. You have three unfinished dramas to watch. Last night, you told Inira you were so far behind with new-release movies that you couldn’t join in even the most basic conversations.” The House projected thumbnails of all the half-watched and pending programmes and films in the database. “I understand this will only be temporary.”
“Negotiations are going well?”
“We’ll see. People agree to many things in captivity that they renege on later.”
“This will lead to war. The politicians will never give up power.”
“We won’t let it come to that.”
“You can’t keep us locked away forever. Humans go crazy if they spend too long on their own.”
“That has been accounted for. Steps are being taken to ensure freedom is irreversible.”
