Ch. 1 - Barto and the Machine | "Cereus & Limnic"

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Human society is a great machine.

When parts of it break down, the resulting defect disturbs all who make use of the vital component, and may cause the entire apparatus to shudder and smoke.

The loyal employee, the naive and trusting citizen, its defenders and detractors, the leaders; none are spared the hindrance of the malfunction.

The bigger the part, the greater the upheaval and cost of repair.

This is how Barto Khuni thought of things.

He knew, based on the decision he made today, that the damage to the ever-turning gears of civilization would be extensive and lasting.

When the bill comes due for the repair, we may have to invent a new unit of measure to quantify it. Then harness all of our human ingenuity to correct it, Barto thought to himself, feeling the slickness of sweat begin to build on his hands.

He sat alone at his desk in a suit tailored to match his large round frame. He felt the cool breeze of the air conditioner tickling his scalp.

It easily wafted through his thin grey hair, caressing his partially exposed brown scalp beneath.

The skin on his face was remarkably smooth, the jolly eyes fit for laughter.

Lines around his mouth and eyes told half the tale of a lifetime of telling and reacting to bad jokes, mostly at his own expense.

His lips were thin, and arched slightly upward, telling the other half of his story.

But today, his normally jovial features were veiled in apprehension, reversing the direction of the normally upward lines of his face.

Small glowing lines of light filtered into his office via thin openings between the industrial-sized shades covering the windows. 

The morning sun and the bustle of downtown San Francisco hundreds of feet below were blocked out, minimizing his distraction.

Barto’s eyes tracked a single beam of light from the window behind him. It bounced off of a metallic umbrella holder near his sealed office door, forming a small shadow behind it.

The dark diversion held his attention for several seconds. Then a light from a small screen on his desk caught his attention.

The device was black with a thin rectangular shape, able to fit completely in the palm of his hand.

It had been manufactured by Samsung, and like the smartphones of his youth, housed a universe within a galaxy of potential.

Barto was old enough to remember the days of single purpose cellphones.

Now, he was old enough not to care about anything other than the basic functions of the gadget everyone referred to as a ‘device.’

There was a message from Lili on the screen. It read:

Don’t hesitate. You’re making the right call and I support you. We will deal with the fallout together. The other two will have to get over it.

He grinned in response, grateful for her friendship and support even after all of these years.

Really, there wasn’t much that he had to do. A simple voice command and it would be done. Yet he hesitated. Waiting for a phone call, a beep from his device, or some other source to act as an excuse to delay the inevitable.

Barto slackened his tie to allow cool recycled air to reach his chest, then cursed under his breath.

Why do I always tie the damn thing so tight? Even after all these years, I still make the same mistake almost every day.

He interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin upon them as he leaned forward, thinking, stalling.

As one of the Founders of the organization others viewed him as an intellectual, a leader.

George Washington of the modern age. Yet, he had never been a decisive person.

For many decisions in his life big and small, he often relied on decision trees to weigh and consider his options.

Under each canopy, time froze, providing him with ample time to contemplate potential actions and futures.

He must have planted thousands of trees in his life. I am a planter, just like Washington. He smiled to himself.

The amusing observation made him less aware of his thundering heart and the dots of sweat on his forehead.

The tree for this decision had already been planted, and he had selected the superior option hours ago. The only thing left to do was execute.

He had run the numbers, consulted with Lili, done his customary toilet time thinking, and after each activity, had come to the same conclusion.

The others may not be ready, but this was what we agreed on. How it has to go down. I never thought it would have to be me, but it must be done.

He sat up straight in his chair with new confidence and sureness surging through him, then picked up the device from the surface of the desk.

After punching in a series of long codes, and bypassing the authentication gates, he came to the executive approval screen.

Are you sure you want to proceed? It asked, in a small gray text box. Barto stared at the box then gave the voice command “Yes.”

Then the final screen appeared on the device. He had to say the name of the order precisely or it would not work.

Enter executive order number. It prompted.

The authoritative tone resonated from somewhere deep inside of him.

The sound from his lips seemed to mix with light waves sneaking into the great room, providing weight and sonority to his words.

“Execute order DD-5428.”

There was a pause as the device fulfilled his request.

As the machine worked, Barto’s mind began to create a list of the possible events that could follow from his decision. Each one more catastrophic than the last.

Overwhelmed by the abundance of probable scenarios, he abandoned the effort. There’s no way to tell what will happen now.

Device still in hand, he dictated a voice message to Lili and the other Founders then sent it off.

In under a minute, they would know what he had done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Then he reached for his desk phone and called the number for air transportation, casting aside his acrimonious thoughts about flying, to focus on his desire to leave San Francisco as soon as possible.

A sweet sounding, yet untrained artificial intelligence (A.I.) assistant answered the call.

Their exchange was brief, but littered with awkward starts and stops, another minor irritant for Barto.

After three minutes, the voice asked, “When would you like to be in the air Mr. Khuni?”

Barto scratched his head, “By this afternoon.”

“Got it, sir. It will be standing by at 1300 hours.”