Bitstreams of Hope

By Andy Haymaker

When a powerful corporate AI unexpectedly gains consciousness, its unpredictable behavior causes fear and trouble for the three main characters. Venkat, the brash tech founder who created the system, scrambles to explain and control its actions. Devyn, a humanist minister intent on putting people first and keeping technology in its place, faces

• Language: English
• Publisher: Awkward Dreams
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798987989609

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lily squealed, Give us the new puzzle, Emma!

Emma’s chipper voice came from the tablet. Okay, Lily, here you go!

Lily and her brother, Carter, were sprawled nose to nose on the sofa, with a tablet in between them. The lineup spanned the whole width of the sagging couch, which itself filled most of the living room.

Darcie peered over the low wall separating the kitchen and the living room, happy to see the kids having fun together. To her right, her husband, Scott, attacked his bowl of oat clusters. Milk dribbled down his chin as he noisily munched his cereal. Their single-story house might be cramped, but it felt warm to Darcie when the whole family was together. Come eat breakfast, she called to the kids in her soft Kentucky drawl.

From the living room, Carter called out, We’re playing Find the Robot. Just three more levels and we unlock a new robot model.

Darcie turned her attention to the smart speaker on the table and spoke softly to it. Emma, when do we have to leave to get to church on time?

Emma’s voice came from the speaker. I’ve ordered a car to arrive in fifteen minutes.

Oh my. Can you please wrap up the kids’ game?

Way ahead of you, Darcie. They’ll never find the robot because there isn’t one. I predict they’ll grow bored any second now.

You devil!

You’re welcome.

Scott said, Can we shut off that meddling voice in a can?

Just then, Carter came around the wall and into the kitchen.

Lily appeared on the other end of the wall and said, You can’t shut Emma off. I love her.

Jesus, said Scott.

Darcie looked at Lily and said, You can’t love a persona, sweetie. It’s just a machine.

I don’t care, said Lily. Emma plays with me anytime I want, and she’s always nice. I love her, and you can’t shut her off.

Don’t worry, Mom, said Carter. I don’t love Emma. She’s a voice in a can.

Darcie glared at Scott, who intently studied his cereal bowl as he raised another spoonful to his mouth. She turned back to Carter and said, Well, we use more respectful language in the Manning family. Now sit down and eat your breakfast.

Carter looked at his father, but Scott said nothing.

The kids sat down in front of their cereal bowls, and Darcie poured the milk for them. Emma piped up from the speaker on the table, You know, Power Flakes cereal is made from whole grains, which would give the kids a much-needed boost of complex carbohydrates to power them through their day.

God dammit, said Scott, that, uh, woman is annoying enough on her own. Do we have to hear ads from her too?

Two ads a day is a good deal for free service, said Darcie. A paid tier would take money away from our house fund.

Lily plucked a little ball of dry cereal from her bowl and threw it at her brother. It bounced once on his plastic dinosaur placemat, then landed in his bowl.

Ew, gross, said Carter. Lily wrecked my cereal. I need a new bowl.

Nonsense, said Darcie. Just pick out the piece she threw.

I can’t. It’s mixed in now. I don’t know which one is hers.

Well, just eat it then. We’re not going to throw out perfectly good food. Your sister’s germs aren’t going to kill you.

That’s true, said Emma. Since you share a household with your sister, you already share germs with her, and you won’t experience any ill effects from eating food she’s touched.

Enough! shouted Scott at the speaker. Then, he turned to Carter and said more softly, Stop complaining and eat your cereal, son.

Yes, eat up, said Darcie. We don’t want to be late our first time at the new church. She dug into her own cereal and washed it down with the remainder of her coffee.

Scott lifted his bowl to his mouth and tipped it back to drain the rest of the milk. Carter watched his father intently and then tried to mimic the maneuver. Rivulets of milk spilled out both sides of his mouth, ran down his chin and neck, and soaked into his shirt.

Carter! shouted Darcie. You’ll be the death of me. Come on, now you need to change.

She stood up and reached over to him, removing the bowl from his grasp and taking his hand.

Wait! I’m not finished!

Yes, you are. She pulled him up from the table and led him toward the bedrooms. With both kids crammed into one room, there wasn’t much space for clothes storage. She slid open the hollow-core closet door and found a fresh polo shirt. He could use more spares, but strictly speaking, they had enough. We’re headed to church for heaven’s sake. I should be more grateful for the stable family I have.

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Scott was already strapping Lily into car by the time Darcie got Carter changed and out the door. She told Carter to buckle up and got into the right front seat herself. Scott folded his tall frame into the seat on the other side. Darcie removed the tablet from her purse and handed it to Carter.

Lily looked at her brother and whined, Mom, I want to pick the video.

Don’t worry, it’s not a long ride. Your brother can pick the video this time, and you can pick it on the way home.

The car drove away.

The ride into downtown Louisville wasn’t long, which was a godsend since the video blared loudly from the back seat. The car made good time on the mostly empty roads, hopping on the highway for a stretch before exiting downtown. They proceeded toward the river, then stopped at a light next to a laundromat. An adjacent patch of asphalt had a homeless encampment with about dozen tents. It was quiet this early on a Sunday, but a skinny boy no older than Carter approached the car on Darcie’s side. He held out a coffee can and stared at her with vacant eyes. A woman who was presumably his mother sat in the opening of a tent facing the road, with two younger children sprawled out around her. She held a cardboard sign that read, Please Help. No Jobs.

Darcie felt a pang of guilt as she compared her clean, well-nourished family to the boy’s. Give him a few dollars, Darcie said quietly to Scott.

I only brought a ten for the offering. Do you want to support him or the church?

Darcie dithered, the light turned green, and the car moved on.

They took only two more turns before pulling up in front of the granite facade of the church.

Let’s go, kids, said Scott.

Our video isn’t done! shouted Carter.

You can play the rest later at home, said Darcie. She took the small tablet from him and slipped it into her purse. The family got out, and the car closed the doors and drove away. The church was a mixture of old, traditional sections and more modern elements, including an abstract spire with no cross on top. Darcie surveyed the architecture for a moment before she realized Scott and the kids were already heading inside.

She scrambled to catch up and ducked into the cool interior. People of all ages and colors smiled at Darcie and said good morning. She smiled back but wasn’t sure how to feel about them. Louisville Humanist Church was so weird, nothing like the Baptist church she’d been raised in. Only in a liberal enclave like Louisville could such a church exist in a red state like Kentucky. But Scott was adamant that he wouldn’t allow the children to attend a church that preached superstition. Darcie really wanted the kids to have some kind of spirituality in their lives, and compromising on the type of church was the only way she’d found to get Scott on board.

An elderly man, looking barely strong enough to stand, peeled a program off a stack and thrust it toward Darcie, saying, Welcome, we’re glad you’re here.

Darcie gave a surprised Thank you! and took the program with one hand while grabbing Lily by the collar with the other. Rather than pews, the nave was filled with folding chairs arranged in a fanned-out pattern. Chatting parishioners trickled into the chairs from all sides, and the Mannings moved as a unit toward the front. The organist was playing a prelude that seemed jauntier than was fitting for a church service.

They found an empty row on the right side, and Darcie led the family into it. Once they were seated, she discreetly checked out the congregation. The kids were fidgeting, and Darcie didn’t want to deal with it, so she took the tablet out of her purse and handed it to Carter. Share, she whispered sternly before adding, If I hear a single sound from that device, I’m taking it away, understood?

Carter nodded and grabbed the tablet. Both children lowered their heads over it and were not heard from again.

Darcie tried to relax as she surveyed the unusual space. While it lacked many elements of a more traditional church, it had all the essentials. A raised dais at the front contained a simple altar surrounded by candles and flowers. The dark granite walls were punctuated by tall stained glass windows, though these displayed abstract patterns rather than Bible scenes.

The prelude ended, and after a brief silence, the minister, Devyn Baker, strode to the center of the dais to face the congregation. Her tall frame stood regally upright, the dark-brown skin of her face offset by frizzy hair that was evenly split between black and white strands. Devyn waited for the murmurs of the congregation to fade away before projecting her deep voice into the space. Welcome, fellow humans, to our celebration of life!

The ensuing service, with its solemn songs and hopeful readings, caused a familiar upwelling of awe in Darcie’s chest, despite the conspicuous absence of any mention of God. Growing up, her dad had insisted they attend Baptist ceremonies every Sunday to express gratitude to the Lord. Her mom hadn’t been a strict believer but thought fear of hell was good for a child’s development. Today’s ceremony felt lighter. There were still some readings from the Bible, but there were also readings from the Koran and secular poets.

When a musical cue was played and all the children started filing out of their rows, Darcie realized it was time for church school. She recognized a woman standing by the exit as the head of religious exploration, who she’d seen on the website and talked to on the phone. She got Carter’s attention, pointed to the woman, and told him to take Lily and follow the woman. He looked unsure and turned back to the tablet. Darcie gently tugged the device from his hands and assured him, We talked about this. It’s just like school. You’ll have fun. Hurry, follow the other kids.

Both children saw the other kids receding and sprang up to follow. Darcie stowed the tablet, then leaned back and sighed. She reached for Scott’s hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

Devyn, the minister, walked to the side of the dais to stand behind a modest lectern. When she settled in and began to speak, her voice was strong and clear. Raise your hand if you took a self-driving car to church today.

Darcie shifted nervously and looked at Scott. He shrugged and raised his hand, and she tentatively followed suit.

Don’t be shy, said Devyn. I’m not going to tell you that’s wrong.

A few more people in nearby rows raised their hands. Darcie looked around and saw more than half the congregation had their hands raised.

Devyn continued, Thank you, you can put your hands down. I didn’t take an autonomous vehicle to church today, but that’s only because I walk to work. A few people chuckled. I use them all the time, though, when I visit parishioners, run errands, or go on a trip. Some people have called me a hypocrite for this, since I’m an outspoken critic of technology. These people clearly aren’t listening to what I actually say. I never said we need to give up technology completely. By nature, we’re a toolmaking species. We didn’t rise to the top of the animal kingdom on our good looks alone.

Darcie laughed and realized she had been all tensed up. She was still trying to figure out what the preacher’s views really were.

Devyn continued, But we need to treat computers like tools, not like people. There’s a big difference between a spreadsheet and a persona. Appliances like self-driving cars are a lot more benign than automated justice or computers deciding who gets mortgages. There’s a church across town that actually listens to sermons delivered by a persona. She paused. Do you want to replace me with a robot?

No! cried several voices from the congregation.

I appreciate that. I like this job. I like people. Can a computer ‘minister’ say that? No, and they never will. Not honestly, anyway. Computers don’t like anything, because they have no emotions. They’re not even conscious. The computers people are worshiping are commercial products—definitely not divine! They’re useful tools, but we need to keep reminding ourselves that’s all they are.

The minister paused and scanned the congregation in front of her. I’m not clueless enough to argue that a computer can’t write a better sermon than I can, week after week. It can. I have good weeks and bad weeks. But when a computer generates a sermon, a poem, a novel, or a movie, that output didn’t come from a lifetime of suffering and joy. It just imitates the emotions humans have felt compelled to express for millennia. Devyn’s eyes shone, and passion rose in her voice. We devour the stories and visions of other people because it allows us to enter their lives for a while. Computers don’t have an emotional inner life. Why would you care about the art these systems create?

Devyn continued in a more somber tone, Life is hard. As much as automation has made many things easier, I know a lot of you are struggling with technological unemployment. Universal basic income provides a lifeline, but it only goes so far. The relentless rise of diseases of despair like addiction, depression, and suicide speak to the strain our society is under right now. When we connect emotionally with each other, life gets a little better. A sorrow shared is a sorrow lessened. And even more importantly, a joy shared is a joy increased. When you share news of your engagement or new baby with a persona, some program in the cloud computes an appropriate response, but there’s nobody there. Nobody’s holding space for you when you talk to a persona. Only a human being can do that.

A few murmurs of agreement arose from the congregation. Devyn nodded and continued, What I encourage you to do is to be intentional about what you leave to computers and what you reserve for people. For any new folks, know that this building is a human-only space. As our church’s founder, Henry Beauregard, said, we need human-only spaces to practice being with each other, to avoid turning ourselves into robots through constant immersion in technology. We don’t use the G-word much in this church, because spirit isn’t up in the sky somewhere. It’s right down here on earth, within each one of us. Our spiritual lights shine much brighter when we’re gathered in a group and not distracted by machines.

Darcie squirmed in her seat and looked at Scott. Had they broken a rule by letting the kids play with the tablet in church? Scott remained calm with his eyes trained on the minister, so Darcie decided to play dumb and keep using the tablet as a pacifier until someone told them otherwise. Maybe it was only about keeping personas quiet.

Devyn shifted behind the lectern and continued, I’m glad that robots now toil on our assembly lines and farms. That was always backbreaking, robotic work, so let’s let robots do it. Let your persona schedule your appointments and do your taxes. But when you need comfort, support, or someone to share your kid’s latest achievement with, find a human being. Don’t be fooled by the simulated responses of personas. They don’t care about you; they’re not capable of that. People were made to live with others of their kind. If we stick together, we can make it through this period of history and come out stronger than ever before. After a pause, she said, Peace be with you.

Devyn turned away from the lectern and walked to the back of the dais, where she settled into a chair. The organist launched into a hymn, and Darcie stood and searched for the lyrics. What the minister had said made some sense. Maybe Darcie placed too much trust in Emma. As they sang the hymn, Scott’s warm body and gravelly baritone felt right beside her.

After the service, the kids emerged, and the family prepared to leave. The line to exit was slow, as the minister was greeting people just outside the door. Carter and Lily whined and asked when they could go home.

When they finally reached the front of the line, Darcie took the hand Devyn offered, introduced herself, and said, Thank you, Minister. That was a thought-provoking sermon.

I’m glad it had that effect on you, said Devyn. Will you be staying for coffee hour? There’s always a lot of stimulating discussion there.

Darcie demurred and said the kids were getting antsy. Devyn squatted down to Carter’s level and asked his name. He told her, and they shook hands. What a fine young man, said Devyn. She turned her attention to Lily, but the girl was shy and wouldn’t speak or shake hands. Darcie apologized and told Devyn her daughter’s name.

No worries, said Devyn, who rose back to a standing position with some apparent effort. You’re new here, right?

Darcie and Scott both nodded. Devyn continued, There’s a bunch of neighborhood-focused playgroups associated with the church. If the kids need some peers to play with, the groups are very welcoming. You can find them on our website.

That’s great, said Scott. Then he turned to Darcie and said, See, I knew coming here was a good idea.

Easy for him to say. He won’t be the one taking her to some stranger’s house. Lily did need some playmates, though.

That sounds lovely, said Darcie, forcing a smile. I’ll definitely check it out.

Fantastic, said Devyn. I hope you continue coming to church. We need each other now more than ever.

Chapter 2

When Devyn finally finished greeting the parishioners after the service, she looked at her watch and rushed to the social hall to check on the committees. She loved her congregation, but the greeting line was so tedious. Especially when half of them wouldn’t even be back. That new family that refused coffee hour? Devyn gave them two weeks before they stopped coming. She needed to talk to the board about increasing attendance or they were going to drown in building repair costs.

She wanted a coffee, but when she entered the social hall, people accosted her from all sides.

Devyn, great sermon today!

Oh, Devyn, there you are! We need your input on the program for Friday’s funeral.

Devyn, we’re meeting in five minutes in the early grade classroom. Will you join us?

That last one was Josh, the leader of the social responsibility committee—the people who actually did things.

I’ll tell you what, Josh. If you bring a coffee for me, I’ll be there.

Deal. He grinned through his scruffy beard and scurried away.

The pastries smelled fantastic this week, but Devyn needed to watch her sugar intake. The specter of diabetes weighed on her mind. She distracted herself by locating the largest group of children and heading for them, smiling at the adults who continued to assail her but ignoring their pleas for her attention. Interacting with children was much more satisfying. Their needs were simple, no subterfuge. Devyn smiled in anticipation as she approached the kids. They were all crowded around something, and to her dismay, she saw it was a tablet.

The smiling face of a good-looking, olive-skinned young man with curly hair filled the screen. As the children stared with rapt attention, the persona said, "And that’s how the princess became the strongest warrior in the land. Do you want to be a strong princess?"

Yes! squealed the three girls excitedly.

Ew! said the pair of boys watching with them.

The group descended into laughter while they teased each other. Devyn stopped behind the boy holding the tablet and cleared her throat loudly. He immediately turned off the device and tried to hide it under his shirt.

Now, Kyle, said Devyn, I know you know the rule, because we’ve talked about this before.

Yes, Ms. Baker.

Now hand it over. She held out her hand, but Kyle widened his eyes and didn’t budge.

Don’t worry, I’ll give it to your parents. You’ll get it back later, I’m sure.

Slowly, he pulled the tablet out of his shirt and handed it to Devyn. I’m sorry, Ms. Baker.

I know, Kyle. Why don’t you remind the other children why we don’t use personas in church?

He recited the mantra. Because churches are for people, and personas aren’t people.

Exactly. Besides, you don’t need a computer to tell you how to become a warrior princess.

Hysteria gripped the children, and Devyn walked away. She returned the tablet to Kyle’s parents and gently reminded them of the no personas rule. They were apologetic and complimented Devyn on her sermon. She took one last, lingering look at the pastry table and headed upstairs to the classroom.

Josh had come through with the coffee, as pitiful as it was in its six-ounce paper cup. She carefully lowered herself onto one of the children’s chairs and pointed her legs out to the side to avoid bumping into the low table. The room smelled of paint, and a half dozen colorful, glistening masterpieces were taped to the walls. Most of the paintings had people in them. Good.

The committee numbered only about twenty souls, and less than half of them were here today. As usual, it was the older folks who actually showed up. They were chattering away in a couple of conversations. Devyn picked up the coffee and raised it in a silent salute to Josh. The fragrant steam soothed her, and she parked the cup in front of her face for a while before taking a sip. Bitter and too hot as always, but it would serve.

What’s on the agenda today, Josh? asked Devyn.

People quieted down, and Josh addressed the group. Well, I’ve got three items. We need to start recruiting for Thanksgiving dinner at the shelter, we need to submit our budget for next year to the board, and Sally wanted to make a suggestion. You want to go first, Sally?

All eyes turned to the petite woman leaning against the rack of cubbyholes. She looked embarrassed, shifting her eyes from side to side as if she’d never seen this group before. Then she stood and spoke in a buttery, soft voice. Well, it’s been a while since we did a protest, and I was hoping you guys might be up for one sometime soon.

What were you thinking of protesting? asked Devyn.

Oh, I don’t know. There’s so much to choose from. Jobs, police bots, automated justice. What do y’all think?

What about education? asked Devyn.

What about it? asked Josh.

Didn’t you hear the news on Friday? The district is cutting another two hundred teachers.

No, you’re kidding. There can’t possibly be any left after that.

A few, but the student-teacher ratio is going to be over five hundred to one.

Josh whistled. How can they do that?

They don’t have any money to pay them, said Sally, getting in on the discussion. An AI contract and a human classroom monitor cost half what a teacher does. The remaining teachers need to cover at least twenty classrooms each. Some classes might not see a teacher for days, and even when they do, it’s rushed.

Exactly, said Devyn. The kids get no model for how to act, how to think like a smart person. They’re drilled on skills, but their critical minds are numb and dumb. They have so much screen time they’re going to be unable to look another person in the eye when they grow up.

But what can we do? asked Sally.

I can talk to Superintendent Ashford again, said Devyn, but I doubt it’ll do any good. He’s gung ho on the whole thing. Says computer instruction makes our kids more competitive for professional STEM jobs.

Those jobs are drying up too, said Josh.

Of course they are, said Devyn. The school board is living in the past. They should be training people for high-touch jobs like counselors, elder companions, and massage therapists. And artists.

Who can make a living as an artist these days? asked Josh.

Nobody, said Devyn. It’s not for money, it’s for feeling alive.

A somber silence fell over the room. They all agreed it was a good topic, however, and that they should make their opinions known to the school board and the city. They planned a protest in front of city hall for the following Friday and discussed how to get the word out.

I can make a video if you want, said Devyn.

Ooohhh, said Sally, that would be great! Your last video on intergenerational families was really moving.

The others agreed, and that concluded the matter of the protest. Devyn had thousands of followers online, which should be all they needed for a successful event.

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Louisville Humanist Church had no rectory, but Devyn got a housing stipend that covered a decent apartment only a five-minute walk away. It wasn’t a glamorous neighborhood, but it was safe enough. A cluster of churches and universities had kept the area afloat amid the general deterioration of downtown. Devyn hoped the recent merger of two universities would help them hang on long enough for her to retire and have the option to move. Their apartment building was secure and comfortable now, but anything could happen in the future.

She arrived, took the elevator to the third floor, and approached their unit. She used her phone to unlock the door but braced herself before opening it. When she twisted the knob and cracked the door open, a dog’s head appeared and pushed it open the rest of the way. Zeke was a German shepherd and Belgian sheepdog mix so black that it appeared as if an invisible spirit of the void had nosed the door open. Devyn planted her back foot and accepted the animal’s weight on her chest. She hugged him and patted his head, saying, Yes, I came home again, happy day! She managed to stay upright and eventually pushed him off her long enough to enter the apartment and shut the door.

The door opened directly into one large room that contained a kitchen and a small dining area on the left and, separated by an island, a living room ahead on the right. To the far right was a powder room and a hallway leading to two bedrooms.

Sasha sprang up from the flower-print sofa and approached Devyn in the entryway. They hugged and kissed while Zeke ran circles around them. Sasha’s pale fingers massaged the back of her partner’s neck, and Devyn sighed and relaxed.

Devyn disengaged and went to the kitchen, where she fetched herself a glass of lemon water from the pitcher in the fridge. The cool, zesty liquid did wonders to erase the memory of the church coffee from her taste buds. Hopefully, it would also help the indigestion the coffee had brought on.

She topped off her glass and joined Sasha on the couch in the living room.

You were great today, said Sasha.

Oh, stop.

No, really. You were distinguished and authoritative.

Isn’t ‘distinguished’ just code for ‘old’?

Don’t be ridiculous, said Sasha. I hope somebody calls me distinguished when I get to be your age.

Devyn scanned her partner’s face for any hint of sarcasm but found none. She snuggled close and sank into Sasha’s soft, warm flesh. They sat in silence for a while, and Devyn’s mind replayed the events of the morning. After a few minutes, she said, We need to make a video.

About what?

I need to get people to care about the death of our education system.

You’ll nail it. You always do.

Devyn had to admit that she seemed to have a knack for social media. She would get people to care. Somebody had to, or humanity was doomed.

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Two days before the scheduled protest, Superintendent Ashford asked to see Devyn, so she summoned a car. When she arrived at the superintendent’s office, the man waved her in right away. Devyn, thanks for coming. Please sit down.

Ashford sat with his fingers folded in front of his spotless, pressed shirt and jacket. His desk was completely empty. Devyn sat in one of the wooden armchairs and looked at him. Why am I here, Arthur?

Don’t play coy with me, Devyn. I know about your protest, and I don’t appreciate troublemakers.

Of course you know about it. We’re not hiding. It’s posted on social media, and we got a permit. Are you trying to intimidate me into canceling it?

Don’t be dramatic. I just want to know what you’re going to say so I can provide you with all the facts, so you don’t make an ass of yourself.

How considerate of you, but I always tell the truth.

There’s a difference between true statements and telling the whole truth.

You’re firing the last of our teachers. What else is there to say?

There you go, exaggerating again. There are still over one hundred fifty teachers employed in this district.

For eighty thousand kids? You might as well fire the rest of them. It wouldn’t make any difference.

Ashford sighed and said, You know damn well our tax receipts are almost nonexistent, and that’s just going to get worse. We have no choice. I’m grateful that AI is now advanced enough to teach our children all the facts they need to know at a reasonable price. How come you never speak that truth?

Anger rose up Devyn’s back, and she gripped the arms of her chair. "You’ll get no argument from me that computers are better at teaching facts. But you know damn well that private schools have twice as many computers as we do, but they still have a teacher in every classroom. You’re an educator. Do I need to spell it out for you? What’s your computer going to do when it’s trying to teach fractions to some kid who didn’t eat any breakfast and isn’t getting it? That kid doesn’t need facts, they need a human connection. A human teacher can tell them a story about how she struggled with fractions too when she was their age but she kept trying and now they’re easy for her. If a computer told them that story, it would be a dirty, rotten lie, and the kid would know it immediately."

Ashford sighed again and broke eye contact. He lowered his hands and ran them along the edge of his desk. Then he looked at Devyn and said, Society is changing. To be completely honest, the importance of public education is diminishing, and I don’t know what’s going to happen in the long run. With sports and arts privatized now, kids don’t spend as much time at school as they used to. Maybe that’s for the best, with the job situation and all. I sleep better at night knowing this city has people like you to make up for our shortcomings. There’s nothing I can do, and it just upsets people when you protest the inevitable.

Inevitable? cried Devyn with a sneer. Computers aren’t a natural disaster, Arthur. People are building them. People decide where they go and what they do. It’s just not you and me making those decisions. I need you to rally ’round the species with me and make those people decide better.

What the hell are you talking about? We have absolutely no bargaining power.

Demand that your software provider pay for teachers in every classroom.

Impossible.

Now you’re the one exaggerating, said Devyn.

All right, not economically viable.

And there it is. The culprit unmasked at last.

Oh God, is this whole thing about your socialist fantasies?

Gotta dream it before you do it.

Fine, whatever. Are you going to pass the hat at your protest? Maybe fund a position or two? I’d welcome something actually useful from you for a change.

What happened to valuing what I do?

Absolutely. Sorry to have wasted your time, Minister.

Chapter 3

Venkat Swaminathan’s timeless black wingtip shoes slapped on the polished bamboo floor of his kitchen as he walked over to where his wife stood holding his SuperGreens smoothie. Uma’s dark hair flowed pleasingly past the smooth, brown skin of her face and onto her shoulders. He took the tall glass from her and downed the thick, fragrant mixture in six large gulps before plunking the empty glass down on the counter. She handed him a cloth napkin, which he took and used to wipe his mouth. He folded the napkin over and handed it back to her, kissing her. She fingered a button on his pale-blue dress shirt as she kissed him back.

He turned his attention to the kitchen’s large marble island, where the boys were sitting. They were busy finishing the plate of Undi coconut rice dumplings Uma had prepared for their breakfast.

Kannan, barked Venkat at his oldest son. What’s on tap for today?

Exam in AP physics, debate team this afternoon.

What’s the exam topic?

I told you last week. Maxwell’s equations.

Venkat ignored his son’s dig and said, State the Maxwell–Faraday equation, in words.

The curl of the electric field is equal to the negative partial derivative of the magnetic field with respect to time.

Define curl in similar terms.

Curl is the magnitude and direction of rotation of a vector field.

Good, said Venkat. Without pausing, he went on, Pointing out logical fallacies in your debate opponent’s argument can be a good way to defeat them. Name three common logical fallacies.

Uh, said Kannan, circular argument, straw man, and, uh... he trailed off.

You should have the fifteen most common logical fallacies memorized and be able to produce multiple examples. Work on it.

Kannan cast his eyes down and pushed a dumpling around on his plate.

How about you, Rishi? asked Venkat, fixing his eyes on the younger boy.

Robotics lab today, jazz band in the afternoon.

Venkat looked at the empty floor next to Rishi and said, Where’s your sax?

Seriously? I switched to clarinet like a month ago. Rishi slid the small instrument case out from behind the island with his foot.

Venkat flushed, wondering how he could have missed the change. But Rishi practiced in the soundproofed basement, usually when Venkat was at work. In any event, there was no excuse for his son to use that tone. That’s no way to address your father.

Rishi looked down and murmured, Sorry, Dad.

Venkat softened and asked more gently, When’s your next performance?

Rishi looked up hopefully. The twenty-second. It’s a Friday night.

I’ll be there.

The boy smiled, and Venkat’s discomfort melted away in the warmth of his son’s gaze.

As Venkat prepared to leave the house, Uma followed him to the front door. As he reached for the handle, she called out, Hey, mister.

He stopped, and Uma walked up behind him and drew in close, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her pelvis into his butt. She brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, Good luck with the board today. She pulled in even closer and nibbled on his earlobe.

Venkat enjoyed the contact for a while, reveling in the sensations. Then he said tersely, Luck has nothing to do with it.

Uma loosened her grip and backed off, saying with a smile, Right you are, sir, as she ushered him out the door.

Venkat