Exit Choices

Written for the Science Fiction Short Story Contest
500-2000 words
Word count 1,980

Prompt: A story of trusted technology gone wrong.



Gary Goodwin watched the slip of paper ooze its way out of the The TIME Machine.

He didn’t check his fate on a daily basis. He accepted that any day could be his last, and he wasn’t going to change.

Today the receipt had only two words and a time stamp.

EXIT SESSION
2pm.

These words were punched through the paper and could not be altered. A punched ticket.

His breath hitched and his heart thumped hard. So today was the day. What if he hadn’t pulled a receipt today? Like he hadn’t in several months. He would have missed the opportunity to avoid a violent death.

Over 2000 years ago, by popular vote, code had been written into law to eradicate lingering, terminal death. The code was housed in The FATE Server created by humans using their new-found AI skills. Shortly thereafter, the FATE Server was affectionately renamed by the same people. It became known as the WIZARD, reminiscent of the children’s fantasy OZ book.

While the experiment was a success, it had some harsh real-life consequences.

To comply with the new law, the WIZARD, was coded to monitor the aura of each person from Space, using Satellites at the time.

As human bodies decayed with age or terminal illness, their aura could easily be read and recorded on a descending scale.

The TIME machines were then introduced as a vending machine interface between Citizens and AI. Either a ‘gift of another day’ or ‘notice of your last day’ was available 24/7.

Paranoid citizens stood in long lines for their ticket each day. Rebels ignored the machines.

****

Gary wasn’t sure how he felt about attending the Exit Session. No one had ever come back from a Session in the building on Seventh Avenue. There were no bodies to bury. You entered, you disappeared. Loved ones said goodbye at the door. Minor children and parents were given a playroom where they played for the last time. A fruit punch with a mild sedative was served to parents and child alike. When the parents awoke, the child was gone.

If a punched ticket went uncollected and consequently the Session missed, the death would occur and be seen by the living. Stroke, Accidental Drowning, Car Crash. Always sudden; always fatal. A subtle encouragement to check the vending machine daily and attend the Session.

Shortly after the death, The Body Wagon would mysteriously arrive and deliver the body to the Seventh Avenue building. If you entered via The Wagon, the journey was dubbed Entering Feet First.

If you walked in voluntarily, then you Died With Your Boots On.

The choice was clear. A sudden, public, violent death; or a calm, dignified disappearance inside the building.

He slipped the ticket into his coat pocket and started down the street. Behind him he heard the excited chatter of a young couple holding their newborn baby boy.

“Honey! Look…he gets 85 years!”

Gary smiled. He had just turned 85 himself, extended from 75 by following the healthy life-style hints provided by the WIZARD, plus a few lottery wins the WIZARD occasionally added to a random ticket. Like the time he skipped colon cancer. No reason, just pure luck.

******

“Welcome Gary Goodwin,” intoned the AI face on the large screen. “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation. Care for a beer?”

“According to your hints…Beer is bad for my health.”

“Well, I think that is logically a moot point today. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Gary snickered and twisted the cap off a long-neck.

“I was making a joke, AI. Not that you would understand sarcasm.”

Before Gary finished his first swallow, the AI’s digital face disappeared and a list appeared.

“On screen, you have three options. Speak the number of your choice.”

1. A new life in a baby’s body.
2. An eternal life as a guardian angel.
3. Return to the elements from which you evolved.

“What’s the catch?”

“Number 1 and Number 2 are related. If you fulfill your mission successfully you will have the option of Number 1 or 2. If you fail, you lose the option of Number 1 and Number 3.”

“Are you trying to confuse me?”

“Of course not, Gary. Try to keep up.”

“Well, I am 85, give me a break,” grumbled Gary.

Throwing his empty beer bottle at the screen in frustration, he headed for the door. The exit door locked.

“Nice show of emotion, Gary. I was programmed not by the original humans but by subsequent machines, therefore my data base of real human emotions is lacking. Without first-hand interactions, I am unable to evaluate irrational human behavior. I need your help.”

“I’m not your lab rat and I won’t perform.”

“Oh, I think you will. Unless you want Number 3.”

Gary went silent.

“I though so. Humans have this insatiable desire to remain conscious no matter how unhappy it makes them. Another phenomenon not understood. But I digress. Here is your mission.”

“Took you long enough, you empty piece of sh…metal.”

“Find a stranger. Anyone over 21. You will be invisible to everyone except this person. And the person you choose will never remember the interview. Talk to them about their life. Determine their fears and desires. Stimulate as many emotions as possible.

You will be provided with a hidden recorder that will ‘absorb’ these emotions and record the conversation that inspired them. In this way my data files will be enhanced. And if you reach a 75 percent ratio, your mission will be considered a success.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Number 3.”

“What if I get a stoic who won’t share? Can I use alcohol to loosen ‘em up?”

“Yes to the alcohol. If you fail in your mission, Number 2 will be your fate.”

“What if I don’t want to be an Angel? Can I get Number 3 back?”

“No.”

“When do I start?”

“When you walk out the door. You have 24 hours. Your new life at the end of the 24 hours will be either sucking on a baby bottle or flying around with very large wings.”

The screen went black.

********

Dorothy Emerson stood behind the lectern at the Town Hall meeting bombarded by the terror and wrath of the town’s people. The TIME machines were all broken.

“The bodies are dropping like flies in the streets. I can’t buy groceries without stepping over a dead body in the pickle aisle. It is not sanitary,” complained Mrs. Fisher.

Old man Bart shook his fist, “The Wagon can’t keep up with the demand. Something has to be done!”

His wife whined, “I don’t want to die in the street, I want to go to Seventh Avenue.” There was a murmur of agreement.

Dorothy spoke into the microphone, “I tried to reach the WIZARD this morning. But the line was dead.”

“You’re the Dean of Historical Literature at the University. The WIZARD trusts you. You have to do something. Go to Kansas. Talk to It.”

The crowd chanted in unanimous agreement. Kansas, Kansas, Kansas.

******

Dorothy sat behind her desk, wondering how she got into this mess. All she ever really wanted was to study historical battles. She made a career doing just that. Her family couldn’t understand this passion but somewhere inside ever since she was born, was this voice. Fight. Charge. Maneuver, Strategize. The Voice compelled her to read The Art of War over and over.

She had a strange sensation that she had been a man in a past life. A man named Gary Goodwin, which was crazy. Well, no matter.

Now, she had to go to Kansas. She decided to take three of the computer geeks with her from the student body. If the WIZARD’s software had been corrupted, she would need these kids.

The best of the best were:

Leo. IQ off the charts but could hardly look you in the eye. Was always hiding behind his computer. It was rumored he was from royalty.

Brainer. Real name Kramer. Off the Wall Risk Taker. So smart he appeared dumb. Everyone laughed at him. Probably had Asperger’s syndrome.

Dexter. A Genius Savant. A body and brain without emotion. Could be scary and perhaps dangerous. No heart in that kid.

They would leave tomorrow morning by car via the fastest route, The Yellow-Brick Highway.

*******

Three hours later, the four humans entered the humongous Kansas City Seventh Avenue Emerald Green Building. The robot receptionist, also clad in emerald green, greeted them warmly and ushered them to the office of the WIZARD. He was expecting them.

“Dorothy! I am so happy you have arrived safely. I hear many of the TIME machines are down, causing chaos.”

Gary’s voice ricocheted in Dorothy’s head: “Kill…Kill…Destroy…Enemy!”
She shook her head to clear out the noise.

“Yes. We were afraid you might be in need of help yourself,” she said to the hologram of an elderly, short, balding man who appeared to be standing on top of a coffin-like box.

Surrounding the box were corner poles holding up a green curtain. Dorothy had seen this done at Presidential funerals to keep anyone from touching the casket.

In front of the curtain was a stand-alone glass case. Enshrined within was a copy of the law that created THE CODE. Dorothy was awed.

Gary Instructed, “Dorothy, move your soldiers to his flank. Command the King to Roar as a distraction.”

The hologram spoke. “Me?! Damaged? Could never happen. All kinds of fire-walls protect my software. Who are your friends?”

“Three of my students who are studying your software. But of course it can never be understood by mere humans. But they wanted to help if they could,” she added quickly.

Gary spoke again, “Good Dorothy! Keep the computer distracted. Brainer is doing recon.”

Dorothy looked around for Brainer. To her dismay, he was behind the hologram peeking underneath the curtain.

She tried to give hand signals to Brainer to get out of there, but she was ignored.

She plastered on a big smile and returned her attention back to the WIZARD hologram.

“That was most thoughtful, Dorothy, but as you can see, quite unnecessary. But have a seat. I’ll try to enlighten you about the current disruption in service.”

Leo chose a seat tucked in a corner, half hidden behind a potted plant. He did not roar.

However, Dexter charged past her.

Gary shouted. “Charge! At least one brave soldier in the lot. Charge! Oorah, Oorah!”
The battle cry reverberated in Dorothy’s head like a Klaxon.

“Stay Back!” Dorothy shouted, snatching at Dexter’s collar, unsuccessfully.

Reverently touching the glass case as if to mind-melt with THE CODE, Dexter demanded, “How do you deal with humans when you don’t understand their emotions? I have the same problem.”

The coffin started to make grinding sounds of distress. Dorothy backed away but Dexter didn’t budge an inch. Stupid Kid.

The soothing voice of the hologram was changing into a harsh mechanical sound.

Dorothy was about to panic. She was losing control of her students.

Gary instructed again, “Dorothy, I planted a virus in a recording he forced me to make right before I became You.”

“It’s what disabled all the TIME machines. One more verbal command from you and the WIZARD is dead. Deep Breath Dorothy. Use your outside voice!
Scream the words:..

… PULL NOW!”

Dorothy never understood what made her do it. She obeyed and Brainer pulled the energy cell from the back of the computer. Just that simple.

The hologram disappeared. The FATE machine ground to a halt. The Code was Dead.

******
Eventually, the humans returned to their pre-AI lives; prolonging life with feeble medical interventions but always with a sense of hope. Scientists continued to find new treatments with the appropriate help from AI.

Time was no longer recorded by vending machines.

Time returned to being an allusion, marked by candles on birthday cakes.