Artificial(ish) Intelligence

Chapter 44

Will let the pile of sand filter through his fingers, the sun almost sparkling off the grains. The tiniest of particles were incredibly vivid when played at the highest settings. The purr of the server fans were enough to relax him into a zombie-like stupor. This was perfection. If he had one dream, it would be to one day possess a set-up like this, to play video games day and night immersed in the most realistic graphics since...well, real life. But this was better, it was a game.

And what better way to get your mind off...everything!

The sand fell onto the bloodied face of an enemy mob crony. Organised crime bosses didn't do the dirty work themselves, they sent out a few lower level made men to perform these kinds of hits. This was why he'd been tasked with the job. But after this he'd raise a rank and get access to a few more weapons.

He was back playing Ganglands V, from a long ago saved game, and his memory was triggered at every event, every piece of dialogue, as if he were twelve once more, though the improved graphics didn't quite mesh with the picture in his mind -- it must have auto-updated itself to the latest patch, back-porting the improved visuals.

Still, it all felt cluttered, with every movement, every sneaky stab to the stomach, all constrained by space. He was too engrossed to realise the real cause: the warehouse was full of stuff. Not physical goods, but information, piled into shaky columns, displayed as holograms. There were pictures of what appeared to be every baby born for the past fifty years, databases full of dates for local raffles, a listing of every choc chip biscuit baked for morning tea by obscure community churches across the country.

Will bumped into the landing page of a micro-blogging platform that lasted no longer than a few weeks back when people actually used them. This drew him out of the game world enough to hear his aunty say something that sounded a bit like a Charlie Brown teacher -- "wha whun wha wha" -- but was probably closer to an offer for tea or coffee. She was talking to Libbi, anyway.

"I don't remember which I prefer, Maggie, but I can't have any of it in this body," she said.

Will's aunty scratched her wild greying hair. "Ah, yes yes," she said, grunting onto her hands and knees and shuffling beneath a tunnel perilously formed beneath copies of car sales from before they became autonomous. It bulged from the weight of full 3D 8K VR video.

"Is that safe?" said Libbi.

Maggie mumbled something that might have been "It's fine, fine." At least that's what it sounded like to me. Out of view, she boiled some water. "I don't normally, you know, have guests," she said, speaking through a crack between Toyota and Ford.

"So about the information...?" said Libbi, before flying through the tunnel herself.

"Were you known internationally?" said Maggie.

"I'm not sure," said Libbi.

"Everyone's international these days," said Maggie, pouring herself a mug of tea. "Now bear with me, I know I have a list somewhere."

Miraculously keeping the mug horizontal, Maggie stumbled through another series of tunnels before skirting aisles of dietary information for Jack Russells and gliding past open source designs for 3D printed chairs.

"I need a good chair," she said, explaining its existence. "These are good designs. I'll print a few once all this clutter's cleared up."

She draped her fingers across the holograms, as if scanning for the first letter.

"There's just so much," said Libbi. "How do you keep on top of it all?"

"Don't worry, it's organised chaos," boasted Maggie, though her frow burrowed. No, her burrow frowed. No wait, her brow furrowed. Yeah, that's it. I'm not very good at this narrating thing.