Sony Hints at Next Generation of Wearable Computers 8 страница



“Okay—I mean, cool,” I rumble, instantly forgetting each digit. I hope the squip did its job.

I DID.

Ten minutes later Jill leaves me off at my house. Six eyes watch me like a demigod as I step from the car. I’m not just a dork now; I’m a psychic dork with a Shago sweatshirt. And Chloe’s phone number.

YES. YOUR CHUMPINESS IS BEING REMEDIED. NOW LET’S WATCH SOME TV SO I CAN GET MORE INPUT ON THIS UNIVERSE.

Twenty-four         

“Michael called,” Mom says as I pass like butter through the bikes and old furniture that clutter the hall.

DEAL WITH HIM LATER.

“I’ll deal with him later.” I go to the bathroom and void myself.

LET’S SEE WHAT WE HAVE TO WORK WITH DOWN THERE.

My eyes roll south.

HMM. UNCIRCUMCISED.

Well…yeah. Wouldn’t you know that from accessing my brain before or whatever?

I LEARNED THE BASICS OF YOUR QUANTUM STATUS IN THIS UNIVERSE, JEREMY. I LEARNED HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HAVE AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU WERE GAY. I’M STILL GETTING FILLED IN ON DETAILS.

What if I were gay?

I’D TEACH YOU HOW TO MEET GUYS. IT’S EASIER.

Huh.

LET’S FOCUS BACK ON YOUR GENITALS, THOUGH.LOTS OF FEMALES DON’T LIKE UNCIRCUMCISED MEN.DID YOU KNOW THAT?

No. I mean—

YOU MIGHT WISH TO CONSIDER A REMEDY, IN THE FUTURE.

Like get circumcised? That’s crazy—

NO PROTESTS. JUST SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT IF THE POSSIBILITY ARISES FINANCIALLY. LET’S GET A READ ON THE REST OF YOUR BODY. TO THE MIRROR.

I walk to the bathroom mirror and take off all my clothes, including my triple layer of shirts.

LOTS OF WORK, JEREMY, LOTS OF WORK.

Why?

YOU SEE HOW YOU LOOK SORT OF SKINNY AND NORMAL?

Yes.

WE CAN’T HAVE THAT. DEFINED ARMS, BUT NO PECS, ENTIRELY UNEXTRAORDINARY. YOU ALSO NEED TO WAX YOUR CHEST.

But there’s no hair on my chest!

EXACTLY. WE’LL KEEP IT THAT WAY. TO THE TELEVISION!

I dress and walk out of the bathroom, curious and fearful about something. Hey, is there any way to turn you off?

Silence.

Nothing! No voice in my head. What happened?

RIGHT HERE.

Okay, so if I want to turn you off, I just thinkabout you being off?

OR YOU SAY “SHUTDOWN”; I’M NATURAL-LANGUAGE CAPABLE.

I plunk down on the couch and flip on the cable.

WHAT IS THAT OBSTRUCTION?

That’s my Dad’s Bowflex.

WELL, MOVE IT.

Huh. Good idea. I get up and move it. The cable is preset to the Discovery Health Network for Mom and there’s a doctor talking: “The acid in the stomach is so acidic that it is more acidic than the most acidic jalapeño.” What the hell is this? I flip to Dismissed.

to turn you off?

Silence.

Nothing! No voice in my head. What happened?

RIGHT HERE.

Okay, so if I want to turn you off, I just thinkabout you being off?

OR YOU SAY “SHUTDOWN”; I’M NATURAL-LANGUAGE CAPABLE.

I plunk down on the couch and flip on the cable.

WHAT IS THAT OBSTRUCTION?

That’s my Dad’s Bowflex.

WELL, MOVE IT.

Huh. Good idea. I get up and move it. The cable is preset to the Discovery Health Network for Mom and there’s a doctor talking: “The acid in the stomach is so acidic that it is more acidic than the most acidic jalapeño.” What the hell is this? I flip to Dismissed.

EXCELLENT. LET’S TAKE A LOOK AT HOW THESE ATTRACTIVE AND POPULAR INDIVIDUALS INTERACT.ALSO, I NEED TO SEE WHAT SORT OF FEMALES I LIKE.

Excuse me?

I KNOW ABOUT YOU, JEREMY, BUT I KNOW LITTLE ABOUT THE WOMEN THAT POPULATE YOUR UNIVERSE. I NEED TO SEE THEM SO I CAN MAKE DECISIONS ABOUT WHICH TYPES TO TARGET FOR MAXIMUM STATUS.

Well, I already know which girls I like.

OH, YOU DO? SO YOU WOULD PREFER TO STAY CONSTRAINED TO YOUR PREFERENCES?

Uh, yeah. I really dig this girl Christine

JEREMY, LOOK.

What?

LOOK AT THE MEN ON TELEVISION.

This episode of Dismissed has two guys in bathing suits pawing at a girl with blond pigtails. I don’t get it.

LOOK AT THEIR BODIES.

So?

THEY LOOK NOTHING LIKE YOURS, JEREMY.THEIR PECS ARE ON AVERAGE 1.4 INCHES MORE PRONOUNCED THAN YOURS. THEY ALSO POSSESS MORE DEFINED ABDOMINAL MUSCLES. IN PARTICULAR, THE SARTORIUS, WHICH SEPARATES THE ABS FROM THE TOPS OF THE THIGHS, IS VERY CONSPICUOUS. SEE THAT CLEAR V DENOTING SEXUAL READINESS?

Well.

WELL, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT TO DO ABOUT THAT,JEREMY? DO YOU THINK THAT YOUR BODY IS GOING TO CHANGE ON ITS OWN? TO ACCESS FEMALES LIKE THE ONES ON THIS PROGRAM, WHO ARE CLEARLY MORE ATTRACTIVE THAN ANYTHING YOU HAVE STORED IN MEMORY, YOU NEED TO CHANGE YOUR BODY COMPLETELY.

You mean, like, work out?

YES. LIKE, WORK OUT. IN FACT, WE MIGHT WANT TO DERIVE A SYSTEM FOR WORKING OUT.

“How is everything in there?” Mom asks from the dining room, behind her curtain.

Muh,” I answer.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD, JEREMY?

Double Delight Oreos with Peanut Butter ’n Chocolate Crème, I answer. That’s easy.

OKAY.

With milk.

OBVIOUSLY. SO LET’S TRY SOMETHING.

What?

KEEP YOUR PEANUT BUTTER OREOS BY THE TV. WHENEVER YOU SEE SOMEONE WITH A BUILT, HEALTHY BODY ON ANY PROGRAM, LIKE RIGHT NOW, YOU DO A PUSH-UP. WHENEVER YOU SEE SOMEONE WITH A SORT OF LARGE, PALSYISH HEAD LIKE YOURS AND A SKINNY PAPER BODY LIKE YOURS, YOU EAT A COOKIE. THEN I CAN WATCH TV ALL THE TIME AND FILL YOUR MENTAL BANKS WITH MOTIVATING GIRL TYPES AND YOU—YOU WILL NOTICE A CHANGE.

Okay. I do as I’m told. I find quickly that when you watch TV with these restrictions, you eat so few cookies and do so many push-ups that you might as well just lie on the floor. So I do. Mom comes in and I’m down there huffing away to The E! True Hollywood Story: American Gladiators.

“Jeremy! I’m impressed.”

“Yeah,” I answer.

I get buff in two weeks.

Twenty-five

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. That night, in my bedroom, when I jiggle the mouse to wake the computer, the squip has something to say.

STOP MASTURBATING.

Right. I forgot this was one of your policies.

AREN’T YOU TIRED FROM THE PUSH-UPS?

Not so tired that I can’t talk to girls online.

JEREMY, IF YOU’RE NOT TOO TIRED TO KEEP FROM MANUALLY STIMULATING YOURSELF, YOU MUST DO MORE PUSH-UPS. WOMEN CAN TELL IF YOU MASTURBATE AND IT CASTS A BAD LIGHT ON YOUR APPEARANCE. ALSO, MANY OF THE “GIRLS” YOU TALK TO ONLINE ARE ACTUALLY MEN WITH MAJOR PHYSICAL IMPEDIMENTS—

Shutdown.

There it goes. Silence. It’s nice to take a break. I go online with my pants unzipped and Michael is there, waiting.

“what’s up popular asshole?” he says on AIM.

“call me” I say back.

Michael phones. I pick up so quickly, my parents only hear half a ring.

“What’s up, popular asshole?” he says.

“Look, I’m sorry man. I just had to stick around with those girls, you know?”

“You’re a f_ _ _ _ _ _ dick, Jeremy. I drove you to the mall just like I drove you to the bowling alley last week for no _uck_ _ _ reason and you ditched me and ended up talking to two cute girls and you didn’t give me _h_t. You treated me like a burden—”

“Both of the girls weren’t cute! Only Chloe was cute.”

“I think Anne’s pretty cute too, dick! I’ll take your castoffs.”

“Well.” I’m at a loss for words. Startup.

TELL HIM YOU WERE IN A VERY DELICATE SITUATION TRYING TO GET THE PHONE NUMBER OFFCHLOE.

“I was really trying for Chloe’s number, dude; you just showed up at the wrong time.”

GIVE HIM THE FIVE-MINUTE RAP.

“If you had come by five minutes later we would have left together.”

“Well…did you get her number?”

That’s the only thing that’s going to make Michael feel better now: my failure. Too bad.

“Heh. Yeah. It’s right here.” I point to my head. That reminds me, should I call Chloe tonight?

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

“How’d you get her number?” he whines.

“I’m getting slick, man.”

“_u_ _.” Michael hangs up. He does that a lot. I start to call him back.

NO, the squip says. LET IT GO. YOU DON’T NEED HIM. HE’S UNSTABLE. TOMORROW AT SCHOOL WE’RE GOING TO BUILD YOU A NEW CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.

What? No way. (I keep dialing.)

JEREMY, STOP AND LISTEN TO ME. ADVISER, REMEMBER?

I stop.

TOMORROW, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE ALL NEW PEOPLE TO DEAL WITH, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

How?

HOW? HOW DOES ANYBODY DO IT? YOU GET GOOD CLOTHES, WALK IN WITH CONFIDENCE AND SHED UNNECESSARY HUMANS. LIKE MICHAEL.

He’s not unnecessary—he’s my friend.

LISTEN. (The squip can be very soothing when it wants.) YOU’RE NOT LOSING HIM FOR GOOD. JUST PUTTING HIM ASIDE A BIT. ONCE YOU GET YOURSELF SITUATED IN THIS NEW SITUATION AND HE CALMS DOWN A LITTLE, YOU CAN MAKE THINGS UP TO HIM BY INCLUDING HIM IN WHATEVER YOU AND YOUR NEW FRIENDS DO. DON’T YOU THINK HE’LL APPRECIATE THAT?

I guess.

YOU TWO WILL FINALLY GET AHEAD IN MIDDLEBOROUGH, JEREMY. YOU’LL BECOME WHAT YOU ALREADY THINK OF YOURSELVES AS—SMART AND INDEPENDENT-MINDED PARTICIPANTS IN HIGH-SCHOOL CULTURE!

Sh_ _! I totally forgot! What about that work Mr. Gretch wanted? (I put the phone down.)

NOT TO WORRY. SHOW IT TO ME.

I pull out a wrinkled sheet of math problems from my backpack—I lost the textbook for math, so when problems are assigned I have to copy them from someone else’s book, usually Michael’s. I put the sheet on my desk.

THIS DOESN’T LOOK HARD. MAY I?

Sure. And then something incredible happens. Something revolutionary and perfect that everybody should have the pleasure of experiencing at least once. I look at each problem on the sheet, scanning slowly like one of those expensive scanners that gets really good resolution. For every question I see, the squip tells me the answer instantly; I think it even helps move my eyeballs along at data-entry speed. And these aren’t easy problems—they’re trigonometry proofs. I’m done with the sheet in thirty seconds.

SEE HOW THAT WORKS?

That’s amazing.

WAIT. CHANGE THAT ONE AND THAT ONE. YOU NEED TO MAINTAIN CORRECT PERCENTAGES IN THE LOW NINETIES SO AS NOT TO AROUSE SUSPICION IN YOUR INSTITUTION.

Right. You’re amazing. How do you do it?

QUANTUM PRINCIPLES, JEREMY.

Like what?

QUBIT MEMORY, PARALLEL PROCESSING. THOSE THINGS.

What are they? Tell me.

IT’S EASY. TAKE YOUR DESK.

What about it?

WELL, SOMETHING’S EITHER ON THE DESK OR OFF IT, RIGHT? IT CAN’T BE BOTH AT THE SAME TIME.

Right.

MOST THINGS IN LIFE ARE LIKE THAT. YOU’RE EITHER DEAD OR ALIVE. IN A CAR OR OUTSIDE IT.

Right.

BUT THEN AGAIN, THERE’S A WHOLE CLASS OF PHENOMENA THAT DON’T FIT INTO THAT EITHER/OR CLASSIFICATION. YOU LOVE YOUR MOTHER, BUT YOU HATE HER TOO. YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF SOMETIMES, BUT YOU’RE STILL A PRETTY HAPPY KID.RIGHT?

I guess.

EMOTIONS, HUMAN DILEMMAS, PLANNING, WRITING, RELATIONSHIPS—NONE OF THESE ARE CUT-AND-DRIED. BUT WITH NORMAL COMPUTERS, CUT-AND-DRIED ONES AND ZEROS ARE USED TO REPRESENT INFORMATION. THAT’S CALLED BINARY CODE. YOU SEE IT ALL THE TIME. ANYTIME A MOVIE COMES OUT WITH COMPUTERS IN IT, THEY PUT A WHOLE STRING OF ONES AND ZEROS BEHIND THE HERO ON THE POSTER, CORRECT?

Sure.

SO A PIECE OF INFORMATION IN A NORMAL COMPUTER CAN BE A ONE OR A ZERO. THAT’S CALLED A BIT. BUT I DON’T USE ONES AND ZEROS; I USE PHOTONS, TINY PIECES OF LIGHT CALLED“QUBITS.” EACH OF THESE QUBITS CAN BE A ONE OR A ZERO OR A SORT OF IN-BETWEEN STATE.

So you have one-halfs instead of just ones and zeros?

SORT OF. I HAVE INTERMEDIATE STATES THAT ALLOW ME TO WORK IN A MASSIVELY PARALLEL WAY;I CAN REPRESENT A GROUP OF NUMBERS IN THE SAME SPACE IT TAKES A NORMAL COMPUTER TO REPRESENT A SINGLE NUMBER. I WORK LIKE YOUR BRAIN. BUT BETTER. AND THAT’S WHY I DO YOUR HOMEWORK INSTANTLY.

Yeah. Amazing.

DON’T WASTE THOSE COMPLIMENTS ON ME.PRACTICE SAYING THAT TO GIRLS.

“Hi, you’re amazing,” I tell the dull air of my room. Then I laugh.

GETTING THERE.

Let’s do some more push-ups.

SURE.

I get going. After twenty reps, with the squip encouraging me and telling jokes, I’m so tired that I roll into bed without thinking about jerking off. My eyes just shut and then…bam, I’m in the world of squip-active dreaming. Which rules.

See, I haven’t had dreams in years, or at least dreams I could remember, and I’ve never ever had sex in my dreams, ever, but tonight I conjure up an unimaginable pastiche of women and sex and money. Chloe is there, as is the blonde with pigtails from Dismissed, as is Christine, as are the women I saw on TV after Dismissed, during my push-ups. There are rich and famous beautiful folks everywhere and I’m talking to all of them, conversing with Keanu Reeves, actually, while Chloe makes out with my ankle (and a chick elf does too, with the other one). The setting is a garden, but the plants are all stringy muscle cells, tendons, and vein-vines, with nerves growing like bleached trees toward the ceiling. And the ceiling is really the apex of my skull and right up there is the gray pill, like the sun, with a smiley face painted on its side. “You are cool, Jeremy,” it says, finally moving its lips instead of just thinking to me. “You are so cool.”

Twenty-six

I am cool. The next day at school I prove it. First the squip tells me I have to wear the “I like the Pope/The Pope smokes dope” T-shirt because Eminem just died. That’s all they’re talking about on the radio as I walk past Mom.

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says in the kitchen. Mom’s buried in her crossword. If she doesn’t finish it before she has to leave the house, she’s a failure. “How are you?”

IGNORE HER. I get milk out of the fridge.

“I said ‘How are you’—What are you wearing?” She stands up very quickly. “You cannot go to school with that!”

“Wow, I didn’t realize freedom of expression didn’t exist in this house.” I’ve gotten pretty good at repeating what the squip says without missing a beat.

“Freedom of expression doesn’t exist for minors, Jeremy, which is what you are.”

TELL HER TO GO F_ _ _ HERSELF.

No!

THEN WEAR A DIFFERENT SHIRT OUT OF THE HOUSE AND CHANGE BEFORE YOU GET TO SCHOOL.

Okay. That works. I leave Mom satisfied, wearing an alternate shirt, exit the house, and morph halfway across the field into the Eminem T-shirt, tall grass tickling my chest. I start singing to myself, one of those silly songs I wrote in my head in sixth grade, back when I wanted to be a rock star: “I’m the—I’m the—I’m the—I’m the—I’m the—man! Dun-dun-dun—”

NO SINGING, PLEASE.

No singing?

YES. IT IS ANNOYING. IF YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE MUSIC IN YOUR HEAD, PLEASE MAKE IT RAP-SLASH-HIP-HOP, THE ACCEPTABLE MUSIC OF YOUTH CULTURE.

How about this: shutdown.

Phew. I keep the tune going as I cross the field. As I approach school, though, I get nervous and turn the squip on. I climb the stairs and Rich is at the top, hanging with a pack of fawning females. “Quality shirt,” he says as I approach.

“Hello, Rich,” I nod, squip-prompted. I almost wave but the squip tells me that waving is one of the worst things you can do in any social situation; it makes people question your nonretardedness. “What’s up?”

“You headed to class?”

“Not in a rush.”

“Huh.” Rich eyes me closely. Does he know? Maybe he’ll be pissed because I went through Rack to get my squip instead of paying him. Maybe he’ll want to kick my ass—

DON’T WORRY. WORRYING RUINS YOUR POSTURE. DISPLAY THOSE PECS WE DEVELOPED LAST NIGHT.

I jut my chest out.

NOW WE’LL SETTLE THIS. ASK RICH IF YOU CAN TALK TO HIM ALONE FOR A SECOND.

“Rich, can you come over here one minute? I gotta ask you something.” I lead my former tormentor to the other side of the school steps—the girls turn their heads at us like motion-sensitive cameras. Once I have Rich alone, I await instructions.

SAY, “UP UP DOWN DOWN LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT B A START.”

“Up up down down left right left right B A start.”

Rich’s face lights up: “You got one!” He hugs me gruffly; he’s a little short for it, but I hug back.

“Yeah, I got one. Is that like their secret code or something?”

“I don’t know. They have their own way of communicating with one another; it’s pretty complicated. I’m stoked you got yours. But hey…where’d you get it?”

“Well—”

REACH INTO YOUR POCKETS.

You want me to give him that other $100?

YES. FINDER’S FEE. BELIEVE ME, IT’S WORTH IT.

“I went and got it through the information you gave me, Rich, so I figured maybe you’d want a little bit of money for it.”

“Hell yeah!” Rich puts his hand out. “You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass for not buying it through me, though.” He smiles.

I hand him the money.

“Seriously,” he lowers his voice, “thanks a lot. Things are kinda bad at my house.”

I nod.

GOOD JOB.

“Let’s go back to the girls,” Rich says. “I’ll introduce you.”

Rich leads me back to his cadre of females, arrayed at the top of the steps as if they are waiting for an audition and not for school. It’s a group I’m familiar with from afar: Abby and Brooke and Celine plus others, girls with slight but compelling variations on how a teenage girl should look: glitter, eyebrow rings, color contacts, lip gloss I can almost smell from here.

“Everybody, this is my friend Jeremy,” Rich proclaims. His friend! Awesome! A bewildering number of hands—although it’s really just seven—get touched by my soft hand as I move around the circle saying hello. “Hi, ladies,” I say to all the girls.

I make the mistake of shaking Celine’s hand but the squip keeps me in line for the rest of them—I slap instead of shaking, to denote sexual readiness. It’s a special, slow kind of slap; as my hand leaves each girl’s, my fingertips linger just long enough for heat to flow from my eyes to theirs. The squip keeps track of their names but doesn’t need to—these are people I’ve watched and envied since freshman year.

“So…everybody hear about Eminem?” submits Tal, a tiny kid, one of the nongirls in the group.

“Ick…” Abby pouts.

BE JADED AND PROFANE.

“I heard that s_i_ yesterday afternoon,” I say. “I’m surprised he didn’t get a_ _ _u _ _ _ _ to death.”

The group chuckles! I never knew making people chuckle could feel so good. It’s not like some of them chuckle and others talk out of the side of their mouths about me—they all glitter in my humor.

DISMISSED.

“Anybody see Dismissed yesterday?” I offer.

“Aw, that was a good one,” Rich chimes in.

“Really? You’re into that show?” Unbelievable. Maybe my squip and Rich’s are teaming up.

YES. MAYBE.

“I’m totally into it—”

“Me too!” Brooke pipes up, getting my attention.

BROOKE! NOW! GIVE THE FORMER GIRLFRIEND STORY, the squip orders, and I go into a riff that we planned this morning.

“I don’t like watching TV, but ever since I got out of this relationship?…” I say to Brooke. She nods. “I have to watch Dismissed just to distract myself from the pain, you know?” I keep my eyes heavily lidded, like I’m sad or stoned or broken in some way.


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