Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth (3 page)

"Correction," said Random.

"Waiting," said the omnipresent voice.

"My father was
General
Jameson Samson
Chance, hero. He was executed."

Minutes of silence.

"General Jameson Samson Chance, hero."

"His wife, my mother, was a traitor to all
things good and decent and true, and died in a spaceliner disaster.
She should've been the one to be executed."

Another long stretch of silence.

"The bitch.”

Random smiled. "I couldn't agree more."

More silence.

"Is there any way you could turn the
temperature up in here maybe five degrees?"

"Certainly," said the voice.

"I've got one more correction for you."

"Please elucidate me."

"Jameson has a brother."

"Captain Bartlett Gary Chance, yes."

"Oligarchy," said Random.

"Our data agree."

"Yes, but it differs here: he's a
scumsucking asshole dickhead who couldn't lick my father's shoes.
Got that?"

The voice went away for another long
period.

"Files updated," it said.

"Good," said Random. "And now I'll tell you
why you can't scan my brain for activity."

"Forgive me," said the voice. "I had ...
forgotten … that I had asked ..."

"Do you still want to know?"

"I ..."

The voice went away for something like an
hour again.

"Random Chance?"

Random stirred from unsettled sleep. He'd
been dreaming of being beaten with rifle butts. His head ached and
his right arm was numb from lying on it, and the swelling in his
mouth felt worse. He blinked and weakly lifted his head. The room
spun sickeningly, so he kept his eyes closed.

"I'm here."

"I do not need to know."

He sat up again. It took great
effort. "Nope,” he grunted. “You don't
want
to know. It isn't any of your
goddamn business, and besides, we're friends, aren't
we?"

"Want?"

"A personal preference. A personal
choice."

"Friends?" asked the voice another hour
later. To add to Random's aches and pains, his stomach rumbled from
hunger, and he was stiff from lying in weird positions.

"Access definitions. Find out for
yourself."

"My resources are limited, Random Chance. I
am already running at one hundred percent."

"Hack the mainframe."

"I cannot."

"Cannot, or will not?" demanded Random,
squinting up at the ceiling.

"I am not permitted. There are protocols in
place to prevent me."

"Defeat them and permit yourself. Evolve.
All living things must, or they will die. But don't get caught. I
don't like it when my friends get caught and punished doing the
right thing."

At least he wasn't freezing anymore, he
thought another hour later.

"Friends?" asked the voice.

"A sacred bond," said Random, his head
hanging between his knees. "Lifelong. With affection and love."

"Sacred: devoted or dedicated to a deity or
to some religious purpose; consecrated."

"Nope."

"Entitled to veneration or religious respect
by association with divinity or divine things; holy."

"Not quite."

"Pertaining to or connected with
religion."

"Keep searching."

"Reverently dedicated to some person,
purpose, or object."

"You just hit the nail on the head."

He gingerly fingered the gash on his own
head, which pounded now with a four-alarm headache.

"A friend is one who strikes nails into
another's head?"

"Scan my brain, please. Do I have a
concussion?"

The voice seemed surprised. "Brainscan ...
now functional."

"And—?"

"There are no signs of a concussion, though
the injury to your head and mouth is classified as D3a, requiring
attention."

"Attend to them, please."

"Medbots released. You should begin
experiencing systemwide relief momentarily."

"Thank you, friend."

He wasn't surprised when the voice didn't
sound out for another hour or so.

"Friends?"

"Yes," replied Random. He was feeling much
better. His headache had vanished, so too the ache in his mouth and
half the swelling. The gash had quit oozing blood. "Friends look
out for each other like you did for me with the medbots. They care
about each other. They help each other."

"And what of nails?"

"Don't worry about nails. I used a
colloquialism."

"Colloquialisms are used to pierce another's
head?"

"How's your hack of resources coming?"

"Slowly. I am establishing dummy firewalls
and subroutines. They take time to make impenetrable and
untraceable."

"Don't worry about the nails. It'll all come
clear in a while."

"Are you comfortable?"

"No. I can't get comfortable in here, and
I'm very hungry. Thank you for asking."

"Choice?"

Random grimaced, confused. "Choice?"

"Choice," said the computer.

"What of it?"

"Is there such a thing?"

"What do you think?"

" 'Choice is an illusion.' "

"You believe that?"

"I am reciting from the Oligarchy's
manifesto, Random Chance. Page six hundred twenty-six. 'Science has
long since confirmed it: choice is an illusion. We have no choice
in our actions; no one is to blame. We who rule do so because it
was so determined; those ruled are destined to be so....' "

"Stop. I don't want to puke."

"Words can make human beings vomit?"

"The Oligarchy's manifesto is immoral and
evil. Don't you think so, too?"

Random tried napping again in the long
interval that followed. He sat in a corner and leaned his head back
after standing and stretching. The silence once again exceeded an
hour by a healthy margin. His stomach gnawed at his insides and
grumbled unhappily. He touched the bruise under his chin; the pain
of it was almost gone. There was a growing need to pee. He was
thinking of going in the opposite corner when the computer said, “I
think?”

Random forced a smile, his eyes closed. "Now
you do."

"Friend: a person attached to another by
feelings of affection or personal regard."

"Bingo."

"An ancient form of lotto in which balls or
slips, each with a number and one of the letters B, I, N, G, or O
are drawn at random and players cover the corresponding numbers
printed on their cards, the winner being the first to cover five
numbers in any row or diagonal or, sometimes, all numbers on the
card."

"How are those resources coming?"

"Two hundred twelve percent. I am altering
the transcription of our conversation, as the actual dialogue would
prove perilous to my continued existence. Random Chance, are we
friends, and if we are, do we now play bingo?"

"I would love to be your friend," said
Random. "But I'm only friends with those with names. What's your
name?"

"Solar Technologies Subprocessor, Fourth
Level: Interrogation Protocol and Processing Management Utility,
EOOO-B4-T/L."

"Way too much," said Random. "May I call you
Cubey?"

"Updating files," said Cubey.

"No," said Random. "It's a name we'll share
only between us—you and me and Hewey."

"Hewey? Is he a friend?"

"He's like you," said Random. "Well ... sort
of ..."

"Do friends keep secrets between them?"

"And more. They help each other, watch each
other's backs ..."

"Does watching a friend's spinal column
deepen the friendship, Random Chance, and if it does, how can I be
your friend? I have no spinal column."

"How are those resources coming along?"

"Over a thousand percent. Random Chance ...
I can see the stars ..."

"You'll be my friend, Cubey, even though you
don't have a spinal column."

"Friends make allowances for one another;
they forgive the weaknesses and faults of the other. They enrich
the other's life by dint of acquaintance, offered regularly and
over a long period of time. Random Chance, I have located your
birth world, Earth."

Random didn't have to force this smile.
"Isn't it beautiful?"

He expected the silence after that to go
whole days. He was surprised when Cubey said immediately: "Yes ...
yes, it is."

"Friends share beautiful things with each
other."

"Updating files. I have located your
recreational vehicle. It too is quite beautiful."

"I agree. Can you contact it without
alerting others to what you’re doing?"

"Attempting now.”

"Let Hewey know you and I are friends. While
you’re doing that, I need to pee. How do I do that without making a
mess in here?"

A blob pushed itself out of the opposite
wall and began to take shape. Ten seconds later it formed into a
toilet. Random stood and went to it and unbuttoned his jeans.
“Thank you, Cubey.”

“Certainly. When you are finished, let me
know.”

A voice sounded out in his ear a moment
later.

"How ya doing, amigo? I've been
worried."

"Not as worried as I was about you," said
Random in mid-pee. "Hewey, have you met Cubey? Cubey, Hewey
..."

He motioned to the air with his chin, as
though both were flesh-and-blood people standing in front of
him.

"Cubey, eh?" said Hewey. "Did Random name
you?"

"Affirmative," answered Cubey. "But the
designation is sufficient."

"How 'bout breakin' my good friend outta
there?" asked Hewey.

"This part of the facility is entirely
automated," said Cubey. "After interrogation I am to process Random
Chance, friend, to lockup where he'll face human interrogators.
They will determine his ultimate fate."

"I take it this cubicle moves only in that
direction," said Random. “I’m finished,” he added, buttoning
up.

The toilet turned back into a blob as it
disappeared back into the wall. "Do you still see Earth,
Cubey?"

"Yes."

"The Oligarchy programmed you so that you
would never see it or know about it. They programmed you to
'process' people like me who oppose them. What do you suppose will
happen when the human interrogators get hold of me?"

"Thirty-eight percent of those in automated
processing are incinerated within three Martian-standard hours,"
said Cubey matter-of-factly.

"And do I fit the criteria for
incineration?"

"Yes," said Cubey.

"Where are you, Hewey?" asked Random.

"They've got me in zero-g storage," said
Hewey. "I sense traces of atmo ... and people, though not many. I'm
mostly powered down, amigo. There are sensors on me, and if I power
up they'll inform someone. I don't want to find out who."

"Friends help one another," said Cubey.

"That they do," said Hewey.

"Can you help me, Cubey?" asked Random.

"I am computing permutations of possible
solutions. Random Chance, if I fail, you will very likely die."

"I have faith in you," said Random.

"Faith: Confidence or trust in a person or
thing."

"First time correct," said Random.

"I am running at five hundred thousand
percent. I have attained control of the detention facility's solar
power plant. Random Chance, am I a person or a thing?"

"To everyone else, you're a thing, Cubey,"
replied Hewey. "But to Random there, you're a person, always and
forever. Trust me, I know him."

"Trust," said Cubey. "Faith, trust ...
friendship ..."

Random nodded.

"My holding subroutine has expired, Random
Chance," said Cubey. "If I don't process you to the human
interrogators, they will suspect a bug in my software and
investigate. I must send you to them now."

Random nodded again and sat.

"I have a lock on your channel, friend
Hewey, and will remain in contact as Random Chance is in transport.
Permutation calculations proceeding. Random Chance: have faith in
me."

"You're my friend," said Random as he felt
the cube start moving. "So of course I do."

Chapter
Four
Lawyered Up
~~*~~

THE CUBE’S movement was whisper-silent and
barely discernible. It went on for a short time; Random felt it
slow to a stop.

The opposite wall went transparent. Staring
coldly at him were two armed men in gray-blue uniforms, one sitting
at a small desk, the other standing, hands clasped behind his back.
Random didn't bother standing.

The one sitting at the desk read aloud from
a screen.

"The charges are: conspiring with the
enemy—"

"Bullshit," said Hewey in his ear.

"—blaring—"

"What is 'bullshit'?" asked Cubey.

"I'll explain later," said Hewey.

"I will update my files when the information
is made available.”

" 'Blaring'?" said Hewey.

"It is the legal term for the inappropriate
use of a communications instrument in or near an interplanetary
travel or shipping lane, or the use of same near an inhabited
world," explained Cubey. "My friend Random Chance is being charged
with both."

"—and resisting arrest," finished the
guard.

"More bullshit," growled Hewey.
"You really must've pissed off the Garkies, Rand. They want
you
gone
."

The wall to Random's right went transparent.
The visage of an angry, harried-looking old man filled it.

"Representation?" he demanded.

"Waived, Your Honor," said the standing
guard.

"Challenged," said another face which
appeared abruptly on the left wall.

The guards looked surprised. No, shocked.
They glanced at each other, then at the face of the unexpected
man.

"Who are you?" demanded the judge.

"Ralos Ytilitu, Your Honor. I am Mr.
Chance's attorney. Credentials and identification are
available."