WetWeb (29 page)

“They?”
Franklin pondered.  Who else was meeting with Titus?

The conference room was on the interior of the building, so it would be illuminated only with artificial light, which was a comfort to Franklin.  He knocked lightly and then opened the door and peaked in.

Titus Briggs was seated at the head of the conference room table and there was a young Hispanic man sitting uncomfortably across on the far side of the table.

“Hello,” Franklin said quietly.

Titus signaled Franklin to enter.  He was in the middle of a dialogue with the young man.

“Say something original.”  Titus continued emphatically. “Say something we don’t already know.”

The young Hispanic shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but remained quiet.

“What about the murder?  He must have given some insight into his conviction?”  Titus asked exasperated.

“He maintains his innocence.  He does not like to answer questions about it.”  The young man responded.

Titus addressed Franklin’s slim female host,

“Are you Franklin?” he asked.

“Yes,” Franklin said,

“I can wait outside.”

“No,” Titus waived away the suggestion with his hand.

“You are both working on the same feature from different angles.”  Titus continued.  

Then speaking to the young man Titus said,

“Franklin is writing a pulp feature that deals with the history of the WetWeb.”

Titus did not bother to explain who the other writer was.  Franklin assumed he was a content man working on the Al McKnight feature.

The young Hispanic synapse host said,

“McKnight pontificates about his great leadership.  He talks endlessly about his meetings with celebrities and heads of state.  He talks about his Nobel Prize.  He is trying to improve his name for posterity.  It is a lot of hot air and repackaging of the same stuff we already know.”

“I need you to say something original,” Titus repeated.  “I want a fresh content feature on this.  We have already told the Al McKnight biography, we cannot re-package the same content over and over again and expect it to sell.”

Titus paused hoping the content man might say something in response.  When he did not, Titus turned to Franklin,

“Franklin, tell us your pulp feature, what do you have that is new?”

Franklin looked at Titus and the other Synapse host and started to tell the story of the origin of Wild West Alive.  At the last minute, he decided not to use the point of view of Marshal Dirk Redburn as he had planned.  Instead Franklin described his pulp feature using the point of view of Yang; the outlaw hero who gets wounded and then fights the deadly quick draw with the evil Marshal who is being controlled remotely.  Using this point of view the pulp feature seemed less gratuitous and Franklin wanted to lend a dose of content to this pulp.  He wanted to impress the content man who he did not know, and he wanted to impress Titus.  He sensed he had an opportunity here.

When Franklin was finished, Titus was clearly pleased.

“This is good pulp,” Titus said.  Then he continued saying,

“We can use this to tie into the content feature.”

Looking at the content man’s Synapse host, Titus said;

“Synap out of here and go back to the prison.  See what you can get from Al McKnight about Chinese Cowboys and gunfighters in the old Wild West Alive game.  We need a tie-in.”

The content man protested.  Via his Synapse host he said,

“What if he won’t answer the questions?  What if he does not want to talk about it?”

“Just get it” Titus said growing exasperated,

“Make it up if you have to.”

* * * * *

Titus was shaking hands with Franklin and grinning broadly when the replay of their last meeting stopped running in Franklin’s head.  Franklins focus returned to his current situation standing outside the prison and this impromptu meeting with Titus Briggs.  Apparently Titus had skimmed to Pleasanton from San Francisco and in person to find Franklin.  Something important was happening.  Franklin decided he would wait for Titus to explain.

“Did you get your final interview?” Titus asked; “Not with Al McKnight of course, I mean with the other guy.”

“Yes,” Franklin answered apprehensively. 

“Fine, that’s fine,” Titus said, and then,
“Come with me, I will give you a lift back to Sacramento, we can discuss your feature on the way.”

Franklin suspected that Titus was interested in publishing his content work.  But to drive out here and meet with him in front of the prison; this seemed so out of character. 

Franklin knew that the execution of Al McKnight was an important content feature, and surmised that the content men assigned to interview McKnight and deliver this feature were not able to find a compelling story. 

Franklin imagined that Titus was on a tight deadline for the content feature on Al McKnight.  This could be Franklin’s big break into content feature writing.  He might sell his first content feature on the ride home.

Franklin said, “Thank you, I had no idea how I would get home tonight.  With this crowd here; there will be a long skim-taxi queue.”

“Fine,” Titus said walking back towards the skimmer.

Franklin dutifully followed behind him. As Franklin approached the long black skimmer something in the back of his mind was bothering him; like a word unremembered. 

Franklin traced his thoughts back to his last meeting with Titus; something was there, something was amiss.

When they got to the door of the skimmer Franklin could see that the windows were heavily tinted in the modern style.  Titus held open the skimmer door for Franklin and Franklin tried unsuccessfully to elegantly shift his wide frame into the back seat.  After some effort, he was situated.

The skimmer’s interior was spacious.  Franklin was able to sit comfortably.  Titus got in from the other passenger door and sat in the seat across from Franklin.  This meant Titus was sitting with his back to the driver.  The driver could not be seen.  There was a dark partition separating the driver from the passengers.  Franklin wondered if a human or a Warmbot was driving. 

Titus reached up and rapped on the partition with the back of his hand; a moment later, the skimmer started moving.

“Shall we have a drink?” Titus asked.

He opened a small cabinet and lifted two crystal tumblers.  He poured gold colored whiskey into each and handed one to Franklin.

Franklin sipped at his drink.  It was strong, but mellow and smoky.

“Taste the whiskey,” Franklin said to himself reflectively.

“What’s that?” Titus asked.

“Oh, the drink, it reminded me of something Anand told me. It was a slogan they used to attract users to synap into the Wild West Alive game.”  Franklin said, and then he quoted the slogan,

“Kiss the Saloon girl, taste the whiskey, smell the gun smoke.”

“Clever,” Titus said, “You can use that in the pulp feature.”

“I was planning to,” Franklin said. 

Franklin noticed the blue number on a digital clock mounted above the small bar cabinet.  It read 12:02AM.  He realized Anand was probably dead now.  He had been condemned by the state; and executed by the Warmbots.

Franklin took a long drink on the strong whiskey and let the strong flavor fill his palette and sinuses.  The taste of the whiskey tamped down his emotional reaction to the realization that Anand Ramasubramanian was gone.

“Fine, that’s fine,” Titus continued, oblivious to Franklin’s discomfort.

Titus took a long drink of the whisky and said,

“Tell me about your content feature. What secrets did you learn?”

Franklin felt guarded.  He was uncomfortable with Titus for the first time; but then Titus was acting strangely.  Titus had never been enthusiastic about an unheard feature before.  Franklin had never seen Titus outside the high offices of Brandon and Stern.  Franklin’s mind buzzed with nervous energy.  Something was wrong but he could not see it.  He could not figure it out. He decided to stall.

“It’s all pulp,” Franklin said.  “There was no content feature here after all.”

There was quiet as Franklin waited for Titus to respond.  To fill the quiet, Franklin added,

“There is a good bit about the first sexual encounter using synaptic derivation.  Between Anand and the surgeon who invented the implant operation. We could do something interesting with that.”

Titus pressed him,
“Franklin, you promised content.  You told me you were working on content; tell me what you learned.”

Franklin squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.  He was reminded of the content man he met in the conference room who was also uncomfortable in his chair when Titus pressed him for a content feature on Al McKnight.

At that meeting, Franklin remembered telling all of the details related to Wild West Alive.  It was a pure pulp feature.  He remembered thinking his Synap host’s voice was high and girlish and not an appropriate narrator for the violent western feature.

Before, that Franklin had met with Titus in his office, where he had admired the wide panorama view of the Bay Bridge.  At this meeting Franklin had asked for a content assignment and Titus had tried to talk him out of it saying Pulp writers never break into content.  Titus seemed inconsistent.  This whole meeting, the luxury skimmer, the whiskey, this did not seem like the Titus Briggs that Franklin knew.  But then Franklin had never actually met with Titus in person before.  Their meetings were always via a synapse Host that Franklin had rented for the occasion.

Franklin realized what was bothering him.  All at once, like the forgotten word remembered.

“Titus,” Franklin said, “How did you recognize me?”

“What?” Titus said confused.

“When you got out of the skimmer,” Franklin continued, “You walked right towards me.  You recognized me, but we have never met in person before; you recognized me from behind and in a dark crowd.  How do you know what I look like?”

A long moment passed in silence, and then another.  Franklin listened to the wind on the windows and watched as Titus seemed to be arriving at a decision.  Presently Titus responded.  He said simply.

“My name is Hans Hoobler.”

The coupling of biological systems (human hosts or organic robots) together with computer databases across a wide network, taken as a whole, is broadly recognized as the WetWeb.

- WetWiki

Maneuvering the skimmer along the causeway leading west towards San Francisco, he was driving into the setting sun.  The bright light hurt his eyes and he lowered the driver’s side visor which helped
.  It helped
until the road veered
,
and the sun dramatically appeared around the side of the visor
,
momentarily blinding him.  He did not become annoyed at this.  Instead, he did what he did best
,
he waited.  He monitored the progress of the sun as it lowered toward the horizon.  Although the view was painful, he knew that if he waited the sun would set; it was inevitable.

As he skimmed along noiselessly, he considered the speech he had delivered to the assembly of student protesters gathered on the campus of Sacramento State University.  The students were raucous, but he felt no anxiety leading up to his speech, no nervous jitters, no butterflies, no excitement.  Sometimes it bothered him that he never felt nervous.  He never felt stage fright or intimidated by the audience.  He had heard about these reactions
,
but he never experienced them himself.  It was a quirk with him, like how some people are color-blind.  But in his case, he never felt anxiety.  Sometimes it bothered him, but he rarely considered it.  It was a trait, or absence of a trait, that he was able to use to his advantage. 

He did not have an invitation. 

When an anti-war rally began to organize on a college campus it started as an idea that soon began to grow from student to student
.  It
would
spread
out exponentially until students were frantically organizing.  He watched for this, and when he saw an impending rally he traveled to join the aimless mass.

When he stepped onto the campus in Sacramento, he simply followed the students who, like him, seemed drawn to the ruckus; attracted by the noise and action.  He followed in their wake.  What he found at the epicenter was a gelatinous mob, willing to be led.

Angry students crowded along the walk and grass area in front of the library steps.  They bumped him
,
and blocked his way as he tried to move to the front of the crowd.  He was planning to give a rousing speech that decried the war.  He had delivered this speech or a version of it to many similar audiences many times before.  When he thought of his words and key points of the speech
,
he realized they seemed flat and uninteresting
.  H
e realized he was bored of this speech.  As he watched anti-war signs shaking above the crowd he decided to change his position.  He would deliver a speech supporting the counter-argument. 

Like any debater, he firmly believed in the axiom that style rules over substance, or in other words, how the message is delivered is more important than the message itself.  The challenge was never to win based on the substance of the argument.  This would mean that there were underlying moral certainties.  The real challenge was to control the discourse.  There was no morality in debate.  No right or wrong, no good or evil.  There was only argument and counter-argument.  The prize went to the debater who controlled the conversation.

He stepped around the cliques and clusters of students like an oceanographer picking his way across the rocks at low tide. 

The students clinging to each other
,
or to campus structures
,
gently swayed with the ebb and flow of emotional appeals and short speeches delivered from the podium that had been setup at the top of the library steps.  He made his way between the tide pools and around the aggressive students with sharp signs protruding from their soft bodies.  He climbed up the steps until he reached the podium.  He tapped on the microphone to hear the amplified sound
to
confirm it was working.  Then speaking directly into the microphone, he introduced himself
.

“My name is Hans Hoobler
.
”

When he had the crowd’s attention, he began by saying,
“It is the burden of the young man to fight wars instigated by old men sitting in high office.  But it is a burden that we must shoulder.”

Hans waited for a reaction, there was
none
.
  S
o he continued
.

”Our generation will earn our place in those high offices by fighting and winning, and when the war is won
,
when at last the military objectives are achieved
,
the new leaders, our leaders, the veterans who led the men of our generation into combat and back again.  These new leaders, honored for their courage and admired for their strength will displace those that set us on this path of destruction
, a
nd then, this new generation of peaceful warriors will set things right.”

The audience was quiet now.  Not sure if they should cheer for this. 

Hans turned up the rhetoric
.

Let this war be our last war.  If the blood of our generation must be shed, then let us stand in line at the recruitment office so that no one can say we shirked our duty.  Let us take this burden, we will bear it.  We will win this war
,
and when we do, we will also win the larger fight. 

This is the war to end
all
war.  Is that why you are here today?  Is this not the cause you believe in?  Read your signs, they say STOP WAR NOW!

Are you sincere?  If yes, then now you know the way.  Fight war by waging war.  Slay the enemy army and in doing so, slay the ideology that set us on this path.

And when young heroes fall
,
let a new marker decorate their headstones.  There, in the veteran’s cemetery, among the noble gardens of stone.  There, among the Christian cross and the Jewish star; let the fallen heroes of our generation rest below a sign that represents our cause, our belief, our religion.   Let the sign of peace be carved in white stone and mark the graves of the soldiers who fought in this
. 
T
he last great crusade
.
 
T
he war to end war.

The audience unexpectedly cheered at this and then applauded.  Hans registered satisfaction, but not excitement or happiness.  It was gratifying to change the speech.  It was a challenge to the debater, but the result did not stir him emotionally.  If the audience had jeered him and pushed him off of the stage
,
his reaction would have been the same.

Thinking about the speech and the reaction of the crowd helped him pass the time as he skimmed back towards Berkeley.  He accelerated and listened to the low hush of wind across the windshield as the skimmer climbed over the rise leading into Vallejo.  Once he crested the top, he had a panoramic view of the bay.  The setting sun had dipped behind the mountains now and the sky was illuminated with gold that reflected on the flat water.  Silent black mountains punctuated the skyline and split the gold sky f
r
om the gold water.

Looking at this vista
,
it reminded him of a crystal glass of whiskey; a drink to be savored, and then consumed.

* * * * *

Hans poured another half glass of whiskey into the crystal tumbler.  Franklin sipped delicately on his drink.  He was careful not to drink too quickly or too much.  Franklin knew that Hans would not feel the effects of the alcohol that he was consuming into the body of Titus Briggs.  Franklin, however, was present in the flesh and he felt the need to stay sharp during this strange conference.

“It was after that rally, after the drive back to Berkeley, that I got the call
,
” Hans said, and then continued,
“It was McKnight himself.  Not a
recruiter
,
and
not his secretary.  He invited me to work with him personally, and directly.  The offer appealed to me.  I would lead the counter-argument.  It would be a great debate: Hoobler vs. McKnight and the world would be our audience.”

“That is when you formed the Anti-Organic robotics movement
,
” Franklin commented, and then continued saying,
“I saw you speak when I was in college.  In fact, I met my wife at that rally.”

“I did a lot of college rallies. I became a celebri
ty of sorts and so did McKnight,”
Hans said. 

The host body of Titus Briggs was staring out the passenger window.  Occasionally a skimmer would pass them heading south and the red tail lights would briefly illuminate his face.

“It was all
fake
; it was a big game.  There never was a true Anti-Organic Robotics movement.  McKnight was controlling everything from the very beginning.  You lost the debate on purpose
,
” Franklin said.

“It was never about winning or losing
,
” Hans explained
.

The challenge was expressed in how we framed the arguments that mattered.  We controlled the dialogue
-
the public discourse.  We focused on
o
rganic
r
obotics as a technology
,
as if we were introducing a new kind of blender.  We never debated the morality of creating a race of slaves from dead bodies.

By talking and debating on the question of
r
obotics, the public accepted the Warmbots as a technology. The debate was all about the ethics of sending organic robots to war, or using organic robots as servants.  We never discussed or debated the morality of using dead people to build the Warmbot.  It was a brilliant strategy and it worked perfectly.

Franklin was quiet, so Hoobler continued,
“We changed the world.  Look around, Warmbots are all around us.  They are everywhere. They drive our skimmers.  They prepare our food, they raise our children.  We live in a utopia. This is the world I waited for. I was McKnight’s foil, I helped him control the perception and acceptance of Warmbots, and now he is gone and this world is waiting for me.”

Hans turned Titus Briggs gaze from the dark window of the skimmer until he was looking at Franklin intently and said,
“Now, tell me your content feature.  What did you get from Anand Ramasubramanian? What did he tell you about the WetWeb?”

Franklin decided to talk.  He hoped through a dialogue with Hoobler he might learn more, he might gain some understanding. 

He said
,
“Anand told me about a loop
,
a bio-technical loop that is growing exponentially and is out of control.  He said the Warmbots are programmed to observe and then mimic behavior they see in humans
.
B
ut
,
this seemingly innocuous programming has resulting in the Warmbots taking control of human hosts.  He said the Warmbots are Synapping into human hosts and controlling them remotely over the WetWeb.”

Han’s smiled and said,
“Ahhh yes, the noble murder of Christopher Mark”

“I don’t understand” Franklin said
,
“What does this have to do with the murder?”

Hans registered surprise and said, “He told you about the loop, but not the plot to stop it?”

Franklin answered, “We ran out of time, the guards came and took him out.”

Hans smirked and
then continued.

Anand and Christopher Mark learned that the Warmbots were Synapping into human hosts as you describe
d. They knew
this behavior was expanding exponentially across the society.  The Warmbots were on autopilot
.  O
nce they connected to a human host they never let go.  The loop expanded like this
;
Warmbots created new Warmbots from the bodies of the dead,
and
because of the ongoing Warmbot wars there was always a fresh supply of dead bodies ready to convert.  At the same time, the Warmbots were programmed to mimic human behavior
.  T
hey quickly learned to utilize a Synapse Suit to take remote control over a living human host.  The Warmbots began actively displacing the humans in our society some months after the introduction of Warmbots for the military
.  At that time,
RSI had shifted to production of Warmbots for domestic applications.  McKnight and I had convinced the public that Warmbots were essentially a technology and so RSI began producing Warmbot domestic servants.

When Al McKnight and Chris Mark came to me they were frantic.  They had discovered the loop and had calculated the rate of expansion and displacement.   Mark said that if we left the loop to run unchecked, the majority of the living population would be controlled by Warmbots in one generation.