Haline

Chapter 1: Part 1

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present you SAI— Sentient Artificial Intelligence. The culmination of years of work that began before the wars and continued amid the fighting, she is supreme in her abilities, vast in her knowledge, and— most of all— committed to the safety and prosperity of Haline. Consider her your new best friend who will be by your side, everywhere and always.”

       — President Gaven Jemmer, SAI unveiling event, second year in office

________________________________________

YEAR 6 OF HALINE, FOUR DAYS UNTIL ELECTION

EARLY EVENING, GAMMA RING

        On his way home from the office Joaquin stopped by the neighborhood store to pick up the groceries Lyla had ordered. Lyla, who seemed as certain about him as she was about the color of the sky. How could she be so sure? But he appreciated her companionship. And her smile. And, of course, her patience. He wasn’t sure what love was, but he wondered if it was what he felt when he held her.  

       Walking into the store, his relatively tall frame drew the attention of a middle-aged woman as she searched through the poor selection of rotting orsoy vegfruits. A genetic cross between oranges and soy beans, orsoys had been engineered for a combination of calories, nutrition, and durability, with a shelf life of six months. These had been sitting in Alpha longer before being sent to Gamma . She squinted her eyes as if to focus them, decided he was no one special, and went back to her search.

        The screens in each corner of the store broadcast the latest Election news. The young female reporter was reminding everyone of the increased fines for Election boycotters— Cotters, they were called—this year, with the subtlest tone of condescension. A small part of her audience was like her: living in the Alpha or Beta Rings, privileged, civilized, loyal. But the masses she spoke to in the outer Rings were not like her and needed to be reminded.    

      Joaquin made his way through a disheveled aisle of packaged food rations to the produce pick-up area in the back, passing the three-days-new security guard, who once again— as he had the two days prior—eyed him suspiciously. The guard’s hands sat on his waist, his right fingers inches from his private security-class minmax gun as if hoping Joaquin would try something. Seemingly on cue, the reporter switched to a story about rising produce theft in the Gamma, Delta, and Epsilon Rings. Joaquin walked up to the counter, offering a half smile to Tommas.

        “No one’s stealing your lousy produce, are they, Tomm?” he said, waving the inside of his right wrist over the counter-embedded scanner, getting a monotone “Joaquin Deva, order 42719, payment accepted,” in reply.

        “With ugly customers like you to scare them away?” Tommas replied, wryly. “Nah, it’s pretty quiet ’round here. Couple miles up the road though…” His grizzly voice and thick beard matched his dark expression, and he finished his sentence with a slight shake of his head. Then his deep-set eyes caught something new. “What’s that on your wrist there?”

         He’d forgotten he was wearing it. Unfastening the strap, Joaquin placed the device on the counter as carefully as if he were putting down an heirloom zucchini. “It’s called a ‘watch.’ It tells time, and folks used to wear these things around the outside of their wrists. Fascinating, right?”

         Joaquin looked up for a reply, and getting nothing, he turned his right wrist over. Glowing lightly were the digits: “18: 02: 51.” The last two digits ticked forward: “52,”“53.”

        Tommas’s eyes looked curiously at the black, oddly shaped device, and he replied detachedly, sadly, as if his mind were somewhere painful. "Yeah, fascinating..."

        He disappeared behind the steel-reinforced wall between the front part of the store and the Produce Safety & Storage area in the back to fetch Joaquin’s order. At the doorway stood another security guard, hands on belt and attention on the broadcast.

        Joaquin turned around and leaned his elbows onto the counter. Glancing upward toward the screen, he caught the unflinching eyes of a young, slight girl in pigtails and pink overalls, holding her mother’s hand absentmindedly. There was really nothing out of the ordinary about Joaquin’s outward appearance that merited the locked stare; dark khaki trousers with the sheen of a fresh sunproof wash, a sky-blue collared shirt with the same sheen, and deep-brown canvas loafers were all pretty standard Haline Gamma-class government-employee attire. He wondered if it was the watch, but assumed it was the usual— at six foot three he was taller than most in the Gamma Ring and occasionally (or was it often ?) attracted curious eyes, especially those of curious children.

        Hearing a rustling behind him, Joaquin turned back around. After another half smile and nod to Tommas as he took his purchase, Joaquin walked outside with the groceries in a light mesh bag slung across his chest and over his left shoulder, a one-gallon flexsteel canister of purified drinking water held firmly in his right palm.

        The warm November evening with its setting sun and rising moon carried a crispness that touched his skin with a calming energy. He stopped and inhaled. Closed his eyes. Held the moment in his lungs. Exhaled. At this altitude he could never seem to get enough of it— never quite fill his lungs entirely. Rarely did a deep breath seem deep enough to give him that feeling of satisfaction he remembered from days by the ocean in his youth, but he often tried.

        Joaquin opened his eyes and glanced at the brightly lit T-bus stop across the street —four minutes, fourteen seconds until the next one. If he waited he’d be home in only eleven minutes and avoid the mosquitoes that roamed each dusk in search of feast. But with another deep, not-quite-fulfilling breath, Joaquin turned on his heel and started the twenty-three minute walk home. Glancing under his wrist, he saw he had another 442 calories to burn before he hit his Haline-mandated, personalized goal of 2,712 minimum calories burned for the day, and he remembered Lyla despised after-dinner strolls; she didn’t feel safe in his Gamma neighborhood, despite the roving scout patrols. Or perhaps because of them? Besides, the mosquitoes usually spared him, and he could use the time to ponder the old uses of his new toy.