Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure, page 16
Life coach.
Eb didn’t need a coach. He just needed people to do what he wanted, to do what they were told. And she wondered why he called the droid an idiot?
“This is Rome.” Eb threw the towel over the droid’s head. “And I have all the gold. Get me some help. The pharmaceutical kind.”
“May I remind you that Caesar was assassinated, sir?”
“May I remind you that your job is to shut up?”
“My job is to help you, sir.” The droid peeled the towel from his bald gray head. “There is a difference.”
“I’ve had enough help. Get out, now. Go. Make me happy. You know what, I’ll take care of the medicine myself. Don’t let me see you until I call.”
“The girls are having breakfast, sir. Perhaps you would like to join them?”
“Do I look hungry?”
He hesitated. “The gathering is not about eating, sir.”
“Then why is there food?”
See? Dummy.
Eb waved him off, teasing him out of the room like a wheezy matador. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath. The Segway was still by the hot tub. He slid to the floor to rest for just a minute and fell asleep.
~
10:30 a.m.
The schedule was a total loss.
It was clear that his diet or his health was causing these dreams. It was time to get into shape. He could look like his handsome projection if he wanted. All it would take was a bit of consistent exercise for a few months.
Six, at most.
He passed the machines like a dictator choosing from a fleet of cars—each of them luxurious and perfect. He settled on a treadmill with wide armrests and not too close to the glass. The dashboard welcomed him with lights and music, but no matter what he said or what button he pushed, the belt wouldn’t move.
Everything should be intuitive. Everything should know his desire and fulfill it. Was this the Stone Age?
The manufacturer would refund him for this piece of crap; he wasn’t paying for a hack design. Instead, he chose a recumbent stationary bicycle. A better choice, really. Exercising while sitting.
Genius.
He called up the music. Head back, legs moving, he soaked in the billion-dollar view. About thirty minutes of this followed by a jacuz and the dead weight of haunting thoughts would shed like dead skin.
He was bored in five minutes.
Sleepy after ten.
At 11:10 a.m., the billion-dollar view was interrupted by one of his drones. It passed within twenty feet of the Castle and doubled back, hovering just outside the window like a bird fascinated by its own reflection. The silver shade window would be like a mirror.
He got up to stretch his legs that were now like rubber. The drone was hovered eye level with Eb while he buried his finger up to the first knuckle into his right nostril. Another drone joined the first one. And then a strange thing happened.
It kamikazeed it.
Just bashed right into the rear propellers. They both tumbled out of sight.
Eb stretched open a holo. The translucent screen flickered with images. The droid appeared with a frilly apron tied around his neck. The girls were giggling at the counter, their plates stacked high with pancakes, rivers of syrup cascading over the edges.
“Having a good sweat, sir?”
“Didn’t they already eat?”
“We’re having pancakes for lunch, sir. Care to join us?”
“Check the drones. I think they’re suicidal.”
“I’ll have a look, sir.”
“Also, I changed my mind. You find the medicine and have it here by this afternoon.”
Eb killed the connection before the droid suggested talking through his feelings about lunch. He needed to change his programming. Jacob was the one that created this personality, said it would mimic human interactions and fulfill the need to connect. If anyone was responsible for Eb’s isolation, it was his dearly departed friend. Maybe if Eb didn’t have the droid, he wouldn’t have become a successful shut-in.
You’re lonely, Jacob told him. I’m worried.
Creating an annoying sidekick more concerned with helping than listening was not the answer. That was obvious.
Eb went back to the exercise bike. At 11:30 a.m., he needed another nap. He also needed help getting up. His legs were elastic, his mind dull. He tipped onto one buttock and grunted. Exercise made him gassy. When he let his weight fall back onto the seat, something bit into his thigh. He shifted back onto one cheek and reached underneath his leg.
“Ow.”
He pulled out a loose wire. His first thought was to sue the manufacturer. But then he realized the wire was bare and coiled.
He stopped pedaling.
The ballerina.
He’d found that in the lounger cushion and left it in the Skeye™ dome. What was it doing down here?
Someone giggled.
“Hey!” he shouted.
It was near the hot tub. There was a flash of green. One of the girls had snuck into the room. Did they hear me fart?
“Come back here!” He struggled in the bucket seat. It was too deep to climb out. He threw his weight over the side and crashed on the carpet. His legs were nearly useless. By the time he pulled himself up, he was out of breath. The stupid Segway was by the hot tub.
The girls laughed again, this time from the other side of the room. “Gubbagubbagubbah.”
“Girls!” They were laughing at him. “Come here, please. Now!”
The hallway was empty. He propped against the wall, his sides stitching. Maybe they ran back into the exercise room. He wouldn’t hear them over his breathing. A train could sneak past him. It sounded like CPR being delivered to a pet squeeze toy. There was no sign of the pugnacious rug rats.
And the kitchen was on the other side of the Castle.
How’d they get over here so fast? Surely they were done with breakfast. But if he called the droid and they were still sitting at the counter… that would mean…
I’m nuts.
Eb let out a cry that could be mistaken for seven-year-old girl. His rings were humming. He needed to sleep for three days. Without dreaming.
He sniffed back the swelling knot and stretched a holo. It was some man. The avocado logo jolted a memory from last night’s dream.
“Hold, please,” Eb shouted.
Eb crawled back into the exercise room. He reached the hot tub and splashed his face.
“Get a hold of yourself. You’re successful. You’re good. You’re super rich.” Eb pulled himself onto the Segway and steered in front of a projection screen. A slender, fit man cruised up like a reflection—shoulders round, chin square and dimpled.
Top hat squarely on his head.
“No, no.” He waved off the hat. He didn’t want people to think he slept in the stupid thing.
Ten deep breaths and the floor felt solid again.
“Okay,” Eb said. “Okay, all right. Here we go.” He cleared his throat and spoke deeply. “Go ahead, Kyle.”
The IT guy looked up. “Um, good morning, Mr. Scrooge. I mean, Merry Christmas.”
“What do you want?”
“Rick wanted me to call you about the analysis.”
He fell on the Segway. A cold chill liquefied his knees. His projection appeared to be leisurely propping his elbows on the handlebars.
Eb wanted to suck his thumb.
“Mr. Scrooge? You all right?”
It could be coincidence. This guy, his name was Kyle just like the Kyle that was helping Rick last night. If Rick was investigating the mystery program, then he would get Kyle to help him, naturally. And it would make sense that Eb dreamed of Kyle helping him. That wasn’t impossible. In fact, it was more than likely.
It didn’t mean he was actually there.
“Where’s Rick?”
“I don’t know. He wanted me to update you on the program. You know, the one from last night. Should I… call back?”
Eb mopped his forehead. “No. Continue.”
“You sure? You look a little—”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s cold and flu season, so go ahead before I drop dead.”
Kyle cleared his throat into his fist. “Okay. I want to assure you that the program has been quarantined and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Quarantined?”
“It’s under control, Mr. Scrooge.”
“Is it quarantined or not?”
“We, um, well, it’s gone. We’re not sure, but we think the quarantine erased it.”
“I know what a quarantine is, Kyle. Programs don’t erase themselves in quarantine. What happened?”
The avocado logo was glowing in the distance. A few employees were milling about. Someone leaned into Kyle’s office to say something.
“Kyle?” Eb grimaced. “Attention on me. What happened?”
“Our best guess is a self-destruct trigger. More importantly, the program appears harmless. A security sweep showed no tampering; everything’s secure. No sign of macros, memory residents, overwrites, direct actions, webscripting, polymorphic—”
“Trojans?”
“We’re all good, Mr. Scrooge.”
“Run the sweep again.”
“It’s running now. Third time.”
Kyle sniffed in confidence. Perhaps he didn’t like being told how to do his job.
“How did it get there?” Eb adjusted his glasses.
“We’re not sure.”
“Santa Claus, maybe?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How did it get there, Kyle?” Eb leaned in. “Programs don’t install themselves. Either Santa Claus pulled it out of his toy sack or someone’s up to shenanigans. Now how did the program get on our servers?”
Kyle looked at his shoes. “I can’t explain it. There’s no evidence of an upload, no one infiltrated the firewall. It’s… I don’t know.”
“It’s hiding. Say it, Kyle. The program is hiding and you don’t know where it is.”
“I assure you, Mr. Scrooge, everything is secure.”
“How can you be sure?”
“It wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary.”
“What was it doing?”
“Networking.”
“What does that mean?”
“As far as we can tell, it was interconnecting all our resources, sort of drawing on all the company’s projects, running them in the background. Nothing’s been manipulated, though. It just seems to be observing, sort of screening them.”
Eb squeezed the Segway handlebars. “Company secrets?”
“No data was outbound, Mr. Scrooge.” Kyle threw up his hands. “Not even an email. Everything is secure, the firewalls intact, I assure you. All dataflow appears to fall within ordinary limits. Just, except for one thing.”
Kyle coughed into his fist.
“What is it?” Eb said.
“Your, uh, portal, sir. There was a bit more outboard dataflow entering your house. We analyzed your activity, but nothing was out of the ordinary.”
Eb blanched. He had the sudden urge to put his head in the hot tub. “You’re monitoring me?”
“No! Of course not. It was just—”
“This is a secure outpost, Kyle. What I do here is none of your business, you understand?”
What I do here? Could he have said anything more suspicious? It sounded like he was hiding aliens from the government. Or worse.
He began driving the Segway and completed a lap around the room, cruising along the glass wall. When he returned to the holo, Kyle was turned toward someone at his door.
“This from you?” someone asked him.
“No,” Kyle said quietly, shrugging. “It’s from Rick.”
“Kyle.” Eb made sure his projected image appeared calm. “Listen carefully. Tell me exactly what you monitored at the Castle and who knows about it.”
“Castle?”
“My home, Kyle. Tell the truth, what did you see?”
“We didn’t see anything, Mr. Scrooge. Just looked at dataflow metrics. That’s all.”
“You’re sure? You’re positive?”
“Absolutely.”
Eb relaxed his death grip on the Segway. He believed him. If he was lying, Eb would launch a lawsuit his great-grandchildren would feel.
“There was… one thing,” Kyle said.
“What?”
“A spike.”
“A spike?”
Kyle shrugged. “The program appeared to respond to some increased demand at your… castle.”
“Last night?”
“Yes. About midnight.”
The Segway rolled backward. Eb felt faint. He righted his balance and leaned forward, exhaling sharply.
“What time exactly, Kyle? Be specific.”
He tapped at a keyword. “Midnight exactly. Right on the second.”
“Okay. All right.” Eb rode around the hot tub. There was something here, a connection. An explanation. Maybe this wasn’t a dream. Maybe there was some sort of… rogue program that caused hallucinations or immersive software that went haywire.
Maybe I’m not crazy.
“We checked the records.” Kyle cleared his throat. “The same pattern showed up the last two Christmas Eves. Exactly at midnight, there’s a spike in outbound dataflow that lasts until morning. We attributed it to your Skeye™ dome, but I’m not sure what would’ve caused it the last two years.”
Eb was shaking his head. Understanding was settling, each conceptual kernel locking in place.
His legs were weak, but his spine was strong.
He stopped at the room’s corner, the valley displayed below, his breath fogging the glass wall. The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place to complete the theory.
“Jacob,” he whispered. “You dog.”
His former partner, his childhood friend, was somehow fooling Eb into believing his thoughts. Somehow he had left an Easter egg in the Avocado system that was piping these nightmares into the Castle; somehow making him see a stretched out thing and a dreadlock man. Perhaps he was using some of the immersion software to create the illusion. There was the lucid-dreaming project that never got off the ground.
There were a lot of unexplained details—like how it all felt so real—but the explanations would come in time. Real mysteries weren’t solved in a day. But the culprit had been exposed. Why was he doing it?
Eb began laughing.
It was the first time in a long time. The laughter exploded from his belly; it filled the room. Tears wet his cheeks. He blew his nose and laughed some more.
“I’m not mad,” Eb muttered. “I’m not mad.”
Eb wiped his eyes and sighed. His projected image wore an exaggerated joyous grin as big as the one on Eb’s face.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Scrooge?”
“Couldn’t be better, my boy. It couldn’t be better.”
Kyle smiled hesitantly. “Okay. Well, have a merry… um, a good day, then.”
“Will do. And you as well. If there’s nothing else?”
“No, Mr. Scrooge.”
Eb turned his back. He wouldn’t be needing the pharmaceutical help after all. It was as if he’d shed a cloak of chains, simply walked out of a suit of fear. Perhaps he would have a soak in the hot tub after all.
It was 12:20 p.m.
“One more thing, Mr. Scrooge?” Kyle was sitting on the edge of his seat.
“Yes?”
“There was a redundant line of code that didn’t make sense, but it was the only thing we grabbed. I don’t think it matters.”
“Okay. What is it?”
Kyle squinted at a side monitor. “Gubba…”
Eb sat down.
“Gubbagubbagubbah.”
He’d heard that before. He couldn’t remember exactly where and when, but that didn’t matter. He recognized the language.
And who spoke it.
TWENTY-ONE
~
Snowbanks lined the driveway.
The pavement had been cleared, the distant wrought-iron gates trimmed with snow. A stocking cap rose out of the snowbank like a wary prairie dog, a fluffy ball bouncing on top. Black pigtails shined from beneath it.
The droid lifted Addy from the igloo and placed her next to a stack of perfectly molded snowballs. A red scarf fluttered around his neck. Their backs were to the valley and the precipitous drop at the edge of the driveway.
Eb could hear her giggling.
Another stocking cap was visible on the other side of the pavement, this one green. That was Natty. Addy is for apple and Natty is a tree.
“Now!” the droids shouted.
The air was filled with cross fire, powdery tracers streaking across the driveway, exploding on the opposite snowbanks. More droids joined the action, three on one side and three on the other. The ones with Natty wore long green scarves that snapped in the fierce wind. Addy’s team of droids wore red.
They sculpted more snowballs and loaded them into Addy’s outstretched mitten. Her shots would shatter on the pavement, barely halfway to the other side. Natty’s would do the same.
Their laughter came in rapid-fire giggles, the kind that lit bellies with bliss. It was the sound only a child could make, the joy possessed by the innocent. The kind that made others smile.
Eb, however, did not.
Their joy neither sparked pleasure in his soul nor crinkled his cheeks with delight.
In the decorative windows, the snowballs fractured in flight. The narrow panes beside the front door were beveled and cold. His breath was hazy on the surface. It was the nearest he’d been to opening the front door since the girls arrived.
That was two years ago.
And look at them, a couple of powdered puffballs, snow slipping under their scarves, beneath their gloves, yet they still laughed like nothing mattered. Addy was only twenty steps from the railing and a fatal drop to the valley. The droid would keep her from doing something foolish, but she didn’t know that.
The naiveté of youth.
Or stupidity. Whatever you wanted to call it spouted endless joy that pulled at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t clear what was stoking a fire of agitation in the pit of his stomach. Was it their fearlessness? Their bubbling essence? Their interminable dance of joy?
