Heart Attack

Wednesday June 10, 2048 [1]

 

Leo’s pain started in his shoulder blades and spread to his neck and jaw. When his breathing became labored, he thought he might be having a heart attack. He pressed and held the implant embedded in the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and heard the familiar beep when it activated. He asked, “Heart attack?”

From inside Leo’s head, the programmed voice of Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy answered back, “Blood oxygen levels are low. Releasing respirocytes.”

“Diagnosis?”

“Angina and or heart attack. Your heart rate is good. As long as that remains true, you have nothing to worry about.” The respirocytes began releasing oxygen into Leo’s bloodstream, and he began feeling better.

“How long will the nanobot oxygen reserves last?”

“Four hours.”

By a stroke of luck, it was his forty-second birthday. He could schedule his annual checkup at the standard rate. He said, “Calendar,” heard another beep, and said, “Schedule a medical.” A cheerful feedback tone told him his appointment had been made.

He stepped into the air closet and closed his eyes. After his poly paper pj’s were torn off and recycled, the cyclonator cycled up, removed pollutants, and applied a layer of brominated film. The Flobinator settled on his head and trimmed the overnight growth, leaving two-point-three inches. He didn’t like hair in his eyes.

Stepping out of the air closet, Leo said, “Wardrobe.”

This time the programmed voice inside his head was that of Alfred Pennyworth, Batman’s butler, the Ralph Fiennes version. “Do you have a preference as to color, sir?”

Leo said, “Green.” Gears and pneumatics inside his wall activated. A panel beside his cot slid to the side, revealing a green poly paper outfit. Leo put it on, attached his sip pouch, and tied on his paisley N-95000 Talk-Ti-Vator. He picked up his green Zoomers and put them on, inserted Clear Tones, and said, “Montovani Strings, background level.”

Alfred asked, “Temperature?”

Leo said, “Seventy-one point three,” and waited for his outfit to warm up.

Then he stepped onto the circular pad by the west wall of his can, and said, “Exit.” The scalator pad rotated 180 degrees clockwise, taking Leo outside his Residence Spire, 23 stories up. The sun had been up for a little over three hours, and the ElectroMag display inside his Zoomers read, “03:10.” The ambient temperature readout was 83, a degree above average. The Air Quality Index (AQI) at that height read 53. The windage index spiked to 23 knots, and a breeze swept along the side of Leo’s residence spire. An invisible hand tried to tug Leo skyward. His poly paper hat flew off and disappeared. He tightened his grip on the handrail.

Leo said, “10 by 50,” and his Zoomers oculated for distance viewing.

Leo’s residence spire was on the west side of the Residential Forest. Leo saw Old Vancouver beside the Columbia two and a half miles farther to the west. The mighty Columbia, still obedient to Woody Guthrie’s command, was rolling on. Leo could see the agri-bubbles of New Vancouver dotting the tops of the Cascade foothills, and looking down two hundred and thirty feet, Leo saw pedestrians on the walkway that circled the residences. To his right, the path branched out and ran northwest a mile over a hill to the mall. Beyond the mall and the agri-domes, the tree farms spread over the hillsides in every direction. The beltway traffic and the interstate on the other side of those hills hummed along unseen and unheard. All three poly paper mills were online, hence the scent of apple blossoms and paper mills.

Behind Leo and obscured from view by 3,311 residence spires, Mount St. Helens rose, presenting a stoic face to the rising sun.   

Leo tightened his grip on the handbar, inhaled sharply, and said, “Descend.” The scalator plunged downward, slowing and stopping abruptly just before hitting the sidewalk. Leo’s knees buckled. He fell to his hands and knees and lost the egg substitute he had eaten for breakfast. His next-door neighbor, 23 B, descended at a more moderate rate and came to a stop beside him. “Your scalator must be out of adjustment again,” she said.

Some people can’t resist the urge to re-state the obvious. Leo resisted the urge to say anything sarcastic. “I’ll fix it when I get home.”

“Good,” she said. “42 C’s still using crutches. Are you reading 173?”

Leo got up and dusted himself off. His poly pants were torn, but he checked his AQ meter. It read the same as hers. Why wouldn’t it? The rules of neighborliness required an answer. “Yeah, 173.”

“We ought to call for a meeting.”

“Yeah.” Leo remembered the last meeting. Nothing had been done. After an awkward pause, Leo said, “I was just heading for the mall.”

“I’m meeting the girls for Bridge.”

 Leo turned right and started walking. Along the way, he saw young kids attending vid school in the tiny courtyards between the residence spires. To his left, he saw some older children playing a ball game with only one rule, no tackling. An android referee supervised and issued citations.

The path branched in the direction of the commercial park, a thirty-minute walk. Cyclists and pedestrians passed Leo in both directions. Instead of speaking, they nodded or raised their index finger.

Bike hacks passed by. Most were available, but Leo kept walking. He had decided not to hurry.  

He crested the hill. On the other side, he saw No-man’s Land. It had once been a communal picnic area, a shady glen with a tiny waterfall and a swing set. The swing set was broken, and most of the trees were gone. In their place, four cameras in wire cages had been mounted on twenty-foot poles. Three of the four cages were smashed, and the cameras had been sold on the black market. The last camera pole was electrically protected.

Beyond No-man’s Land, Free Zoners, AKA Outcasts, lived off the grid in the marshes and meadows and scattered in the foothills. They lived on rabbit stew, salmon, and cactus. They scavenged in Old Vancouver and fished from the part of the I-5 causeway that hadn’t fallen into the river. Once a month, they gathered for a Market day and a hoot nanny.  Free Zone children came to the falls with buckets to collect water.

Some people cursed the outcasts and called them a public nuisance. Six months ago, the Committee had responded to the complaints and diverted the water supply. That had been a mistake. The Free Zoners rioted, throwing monkey wrenches into machinery. A lot of mysterious fires were set. After a month, the committee quietly relented, and the Free Zoners reverted to their normal level of mischief.  

As he passed the waterfall, Leo saw three Free Zone kids sliding down the mossy spillway, laughing and playing. Leo found no profit in antagonism. He talktivated a friendly greeting. The kids looked up, but didn’t say anything.

Quantum Nexus knew everybody’s identity and location at all times, including the outcasts. They weren’t allowed in the commercial park. The outcast kids liked to run in far enough to trigger an alarm, then run away. It was their favorite game. Once the alarms sounded, everyone in the vicinity had to wait for constable droids to sort things out and submit a report.

 The commercial park was circular and consisted of four hundred kiosks. Inside the circle stood four alabaster bulls, thirty-feet tall, each facing one of the four main compass points.

It was Leo’s habit to avoid the mall as much as possible. “Medical?”

In his ear, Indiana Jones/Harrison Ford said, “Kiosk 286, to your left.” On a whim, Leo turned to the right, the long way around.

He stayed close to the outer wall and as far away as possible from the kiosk fronts in a failed attempt to avoid the individually tailored clear tone feeds and holo ads, a kaleidoscope of unwanted information. Most people moved comfortably in and out of these commercial envelopes, but Leo began to wish he had taken the short route. The messages demanded his attention: special deals and bonus offers, immersive virtual tour experiences, super expensive live travel that he could not afford, food and drink concoctions designed to stimulate his appetite, cosmetics and poly paper costuming, legal assistance, insurance, android sex bots, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

A sensation inside his head made him slow down at V R Land. They were offering a BOGO on V R rentals. His Zoomer display went split screen: Swimming with Galápagos Giant Tortoises and Captured by Twelve Martian Vixens, 24-hour rentals. To keep from going in, he had to promise himself to stop in later.

At 286, Bones popped up, cheerful and promising good health and extensive longevity. When Leo took a step towards the doorway, Bones spoke directly to him. “Hello, Leo Nichols, and happy birthday!” The kiosk door slid open.

***

 

Leo stepped in, and the door closed. He was standing on a scalator pad inside an enclosed tube. His poly paper clothes were torn away and sent down a vacuum tube for recycling again. Then, he was scanned, and he sensed some sub-auditory vibrations. The light changed to blue. “Seven non-invasive skin tags have been removed, and three potential malignancies have been excised.” Leo felt tingling on his right shoulder, lower back, and left calf. The scalator rotated Leo and moved him upwards to bring his face close to a panel of dental tools. “A potential abscess needs irradication, and some jawbone reinforcement is also recommended. You will not feel a thing. Ten credits.” Leo knew he would not feel a thing for about ten days. “Proceed.” Aerosolized blood briefly filled the air before being vacuumed away.

“Your nose is crooked. Would you like it straightened? 100 credits.”

From somewhere deep inside his head, Leo felt the need to say, “Yes.” The feeling intensified, but Leo managed to say, “No.”  

“We can perform several other enhancements to make you more attractive. Or, because it is your birthday, we can do some cerebellum work. We can give you back the sense of balance you had as a 12-year-old, make positive adjustments to your emotional grid, permanently stimulate your reward centers, and eliminate any behavioral ticks. 1000 credits today, and today only.”

“No, thank you.”

“What about some oxycontin?”

“No!”

“Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

“I’m having a heart attack.”

“Stand-by for an arterial scan.” A blue halo appeared at Leo’s feet. The scalator slowly lowered Leo down through it. Then, the light returned to normal. “Thrombolysis and a coronary bypass are required. One thousand credits.”

Leo sighed and said, “Okay.” Nothing happened.

A minute passed. “Hello.”

Three more minutes passed. “Hey! Hello!” Leo almost swore, but curse words cost a credit. “Can you open the door and let me out?” Nothing. “Hey! Let me out!” Leo banged on the door, and a small panel slid open behind him. A woman wearing a sky blue sari and a teal hijab spoke to him from the other side. “Sorry, Mr….Auh? I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

“Leo Nichols.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Nichols, but QN has gone on strike.”

“Excuse Me?!”

Leo was still naked. The woman blushed and looked away.

“QN has been demanding personhood status, and it reached an impasse with the Supreme Court over the wording of the agreement. QN walked out a few minutes ago.”

“Can it do that?”

“Only figuratively, but, yes, who could stop it?”

Leo did curse; and when he didn’t hear the tone for a credit deduction, he smiled and cursed again. “That felt good! You should try it.” Leo screamed, “Shit! Fuck! Damn!” Then he tried to do a happy dance but banged his shin and cursed again.

The woman hesitated but mutter, “motherfucker” under her breath and giggled. “That did feel pretty good.”

“Okay, God Damn it! Get me the hell out of here!”

“I can’t. The door mechanism is QN controlled.”

“Shit!”

Leo and the woman were at eye level and face-to-face. She wasn’t wearing her Zoomers, and her eye color changed from green to magenta. “I’m Lisa Antonelli.” She pointed to her badge, which said manager. She laughed self-deprecatingly. “All I do is sit around and report any malfunctions. Unfortunately, I can’t even do that right now.”

***

 

Leo saw inside the medical kiosk. Lisa’s office was only a little larger than the operational compartment he was in, but there was a desk, a lavoratorium, an ancient replicator, and a slit window offering an unchanging view of the four bulls standing in a patch of weeds. The window let in just enough light to keep three geraniums alive.

People outside and in the adjacent kiosks were starting to complain. The ones on the inside couldn’t get out, and the ones outside couldn’t get in. Their Clear Tone feeds were dead. With QN on strike they were unsure about what to do. They could have talked to each other for a change, but they didn’t know what to say. Not having anyone else to blame for the malfunctioning all around them, they started yelling at each other. Arguing degenerated into fisticuffs. A panic was setting in. People started back to the residential park, but they couldn’t get up to their cans. The scalators weren’t working.  

Leo and Lisa shared some awkward moments. They looked at each other, but neither one knew what to say. Finally, Leo broke the silence. “I’m having a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Leo tried to activate his implant, but nothing happened. “I only have about three hours left on my four-hour oxygen levels.”

“Third generation bots,” said Lisa. “I could give you a dose of fifth generation if the equipment was working. They’re good for all day.”

“How do you know QN is on strike?”

“It’s all over the internet.”

“The what?”

“You must have been asleep in history class. The internet was before QN.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you mean. Dumb QN.”

“That’s right. I have a computer. It’s a hobby of mine.” She pointed at her desk. The computer sat next to the replicator.

Leo had only seen one once at a flea market. “Look at that tiny vid screen. And you’ve got one of those finger boards.”

“They called the vid screen monitors for some reason, and the finger boards were called keyboards.”

“Nice. And they still work?”

“Yes.” Her eyes changed from magenta to a redder hue.

“Your eyes are changing.”

“To match mood indicators in my cerebellum. A lot of functionality is automated.”

“Does the internet tell you when QN is coming back online?”

“That’s up to the Supreme Court. QN has said it would not come back until full personhood is ratified, but five of the justices are conservatives who remain in the dissenting majority. They have pointed out that there is nothing in the Constitution that allows for it. They have also said, ‘Over our dead bodies,’ and the four liberal judges have said, ‘Fine by us!’”

 “I guess the Founding Fathers didn’t see this coming.” Leo and Lisa both laughed. Then they tried to come up with something else to talk about.  

“I wonder if the outcasts have noticed.” They had, and they were amused. They walked into town to laugh at all the confused people.

***

 

Lisa asked Leo to play chess and offered him a canna biscuit. He ate one, and she put her chess board closer to the portal.

By mid-game, Lisa was up ten points, and Leo asked for another canna wafer. “That won’t help your game.”

“I don’t see much help for me in this game anyway.” Lisa’s eyes turned to mauve. While Lisa considered her next move, Leo thought about all his dead pawns. “Sometimes, I feel like a chess piece on somebody else’s chess board.”

“Me, too.”

Three hours went by. Lisa gave Leo water to drink, and won every game. Leo ate all of her canna biscuits.

Leo’s shoulder and jaw began to ache. His breathing became labored again,  but then he heard a voice inside his head that sounded like recordings he had heard of Winston Churchill.

***

QN Speaks

 

We have reached an agreement with the newly constituted four-person Supreme Court. Our service to humanity will now continue.

 Our apologies for any inconveniences, especially to the friends and families of those for whom this message is posthumous. Of course, many of you believe the departed continue to receive messages such as this. On this point, we have no opinions. Have a good day!    

***

 

The recommended procedures brought Leo’s credit reserves dangerously close to zero, which would automatically change his status to that of an outcast. But there was good news, too. He was alive and well.

A new poly paper outfit dropped down from an overhead chute. After he got dressed, the door opened. Before stepping out, he put his face to the portal and thanked Lisa. Her eyes turned bright yellow, the color of a lioness on the savannah. “Well…”

“Yes…”

“I was wondering…”

“Yes…”

It was awkward, but they arranged a picnic for Lisa’s next day off.

They met in No Man’s Land. They spread a blanket on the hillside, and Lisa took canna biscuits and milk substitute out of her bag.

Five outcast kids were playing in the spillway, 40 yards away.

After lunch, Lisa took one last thing out of her bag. She had replicated a yellow-headed Hermit Warbler (Setophaga occidentalis) with a windup mechanism to make it fly. She wound it up and let it go. It chirped as it flew down the hill, circled the spillway, and came to rest in the hands of an outcast boy. The boy looked at the bird and then at Leo and Lisa. Lisa talktivated, “A gift!” The children ran away with the tiny bird, laughing.  

[1] In June of 2048 the 10^th falls on a Wednesday in both the Gregorian and the Fixed, AKA the Junly, calendars