Published on Dec 1, 2009:
Introduction
This 3rd prize winning story of 2009 SF Contest. Sometimes Life takes certain turns that are incomprehensible for others but still meaningful for those involved. A human story set in a possible future.
"Absolutely, Commissioner, you'll have our full assistance on this". As he spoke, Savar beckoned to Nkul who had just entered his room.
Nkul sat down, waiting for the call to finish.
"Yes sir, I'll get my people to talk to yours to figure out how many resources this'll need."
Savar listened intently as the Commissioner spoke, and raised his eyebrows at Nkul. Nkul smiled in reply - the police always wanted a rate discount.
Savar said carefully: "Commissioner Sir, you do know that we at Cirrus have continued to do our social duties even in these trying economic times. A fact acknowledged even by the Mayor. A discount may not be possible, but I do assure you that our best minds will be on this. After all, the investigation affects us all."
Nkul listened as his CEO firmly put that economy-class policeman down.
The call over, Savar turned to Nkul.
"Miserly weasel, eh?"
"You couldn't have done a more polite ëbugger off", sir", said Nkul.
"I hope so! All right then, I'm assuming you've read about these incidents of arson and bombing in the North West?"
"Yes sir, about seven, if I remember."
"Nine, the Commissioner said. So the police geeks are setting up the usual data-combing operations - they've got about 5 PBs of data from the public scrutinizer videos, and a lot of tele-transcripts. They want to build and run several models and report on the patterns and linkages."
"Looks like the standard op to me."
"Yes, just that they'd obviously like a much faster turnaround; seems there's a lot of pressure on them from the governing council to come up with something. And being the silly season, the media is all over this with nothing else to do."
"He's lucky you didn't ask for a higher price."
Savar chuckled. "Yes, but then if we continue to play this well, we are sure to land the census mining contracts for the next twenty years. This guy is our biggest champion in the government right now, and we'd obviously like to have him in our pockets - deep pockets if you will."
"I'll get a team set up immediately. I'm assuming I can pull some heads off the other Police accounts - the Binnheim art forgeries projects, perhaps?"
"Yes. Perhaps stop that medical patent literature trawlage also, not until KY pay up for the last quarter. Make this our top priority for this week. Tell Karti to assign some of our best on this one. Oh, and, he's asked for a 24x7 operation."
***
As was his custom, Bannin pulled out his broadsheet as soon as he sat in the Metro. Unfolding it, he hid his face behind the pages for the rest of the hour's journey, without even a hello to Mian, his colleague who was seated in one of the opposite flanks. Mian didn't mind - Bannin had once explained the reasons for disappearing into the paper and he understood.
And as usual, Bannin's strategy worked well. None of the young occupants of the compartments noticed the poster boy for Cirrus Intellects' mind rental services. If they did, they would point Bannin out to their friends; some would even dare to approach him for career advice. ëWe wanna pick your brains!', an impudent boy had once joked - something that disagreed with him violently.
Two years ago, when the company told Bannin he would be prominently featured in their commercials about its mind rental services, he had agreed enthusiastically. He welcomed a measure of lukewarm fame, and his wife liked the look of extra cash and respect in the neighbourhood. The company wanted a stolid yet reputable type on the new recruitment campaign - the PR consultants thought the mind rental industry needed to appeal to those who wanted the security of consistent income without the hassles of real work.
Bannin, with his square face and small eyes, seemed to epitomize that class of person.
He had been with Cirrus for eight years, his first and only job so far. He, with his second class graduation ("the boy is clever, but never applies himself", his father always complained with a whiplash of contempt), had to sit at home for a few years with only his thumbs for amusement. The opportunity at Cirrus had come through a school friend.
"So I don't really have to do anything?" Bannin had asked.
"No, zilch-o. They'll just plug you into an encepho-something - I don't know the name, man, I'm just an enlister. So they put you on it, and they use your brain to run lots of computing tasks. They say it's a lot more cost and energy-effective than server racks. You just sit back and sleep. Don't even have to move a finger, my friend. Of course, if your head is good enough for them. They'll have some tests and everything to check aptitude."
On hearing that Bannin had made the grade, his father wasn't sure whether to congratulate his son on being certified a Grade 1 Cirrus Approved Neurocentre, or to sneer at a career of professional inertia. In the end, he only asked about the medical side-effects. The enlisting friend did not hide the fact that no one really knew how safe mind rentals would be in the long run, but government lab trials on neuro-capture over the last decade had revealed nothing untoward, apart from mild headaches in some subjects.
"You'll have free coffee and medical cover for life, my friend."
So Bannin caught the 7:25 Metro to work each weekday, to be strapped into an encepho-something and to have his brain used as a processing centre. He worked in two shifts of four hours each, with a couple of additional hours for lunch, mandatory neuro-exercises, and relaxation. He was the fifteenth neurocentre to join Cirrus, and now he was one of thousands.
The campaign had been a success. It showed Bannin at work ("a diligent employee with consistent 99% percentile scores on his yearly polyneurometrics"), at his daughter's school ("a considerate dad for his little girl"), at the market choosing fruits ("no loss of social or mental abilities in this method").
When he saw the five 30-second clips, he was mildly surprised as to how interesting his own life seemed on screen.
Someone had even studied him for their research project. "Finally", it concluded, "the human race makes full use of the potential of the human brain. Think of all the unused cycles of processing throughout history - what could we have become if every ounce of that once-mysterious clump of matter had been squeezed for value?" Cirrus loved the attention and resultant increase in inquiries.
But Bannin soon tired of the attention, especially from young college kids wanting to know how they could land the ëeasiest job in the world' and comparing themselves with him: "he seems ordinary enough, so may be I can live like him, earning enough while sitting on my arse, no?"
Which was why Bannin didn't mind paying extra for the big print broadsheets that commanded premium prices, instead of reading on the trim handhelds almost everyone else used.
Mian often sat opposite Bannin in the Metro. He preferred watching the world whizz by outside the windows rather than peer at alphabets four inches from his nose. Very rarely did he see his colleague's newspaper lowered as he did now.
Bannin was asleep. But strangely, he was in REM sleep - his eyes were darting about like pinballs. Mian watched, as others in the compartment did, as Bannin's hands began to move about. He seemed to be mimicking the act of writing. Or slashing.
Mian wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want Bannin to become an object of ridicule. He hoped no one in the flanks would pull out a camera to record this - it would easily make it to one of those city anecdote sections in the tabloids. But before he could do anything, the train slowed down for a halt, and Bannin slipped back into repose.
***
During the lunch break that same day, Karti was looking at the NW data combing performance reports for the first shift. As she read through it, she became a little worried. She circled Bannin's name and pressed an intercom button. She was about to ask for Bannin, when there was a knock on her office door.
Bannin walked in.
"Oh Mr. Bannin, just the man I wanted to see."
"Is that so Ma'am?"
Bannin sat down and folded his hands on his lap. He waited for her to speak.
"You wanted to talk, Mr. Bannin?"
"Uh, ma'am, I wanted to go home - can I take a half day? I don't feel too well."
"I see. I was about to ask you the same. I have some stats with me which surprised me. Your active-circuits seem way down. I'm surprised; I've never seen that happen to you."
Bannin looked worried.
"I don't know Ma'am, I've never felt like this before. So wasn't sure what to do. Thought I'd go home. Maybe sleep it off."
Karti seemed annoyed at this.
"Oh Mr. Bannin, that's going to be difficult for us to do. I won't be able to replace your kind of profile at such short notice. I don't have any ëtop fives' on the sidelines at the moment. Are you sure you can't manage?"
"Oh, maybe I could, ma'am." Bannin was wavering.
"Hmm. Perhaps we should get an opinion from Dr. Gyle."
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Gyle made his pronouncements:
"I really don't think anything's physically wrong with you, Mr. Bannin. Now, is everything all right at home? Getting on well with the wife, I hope? Kids stressing you out?"
Bannin felt his discomfort bite into him even more. He hated such conversations. He agreed to go back to his desk.
After he left, Karti turned to Dr. Gyle.
"Thanks Doctor. Couldn't really afford him taking off like that. Now are you sure nothing's the matter with him?"
"I can't see anything wrong in his EEGs. But he seems different. Fidgety. Bannin has always been a model of quiescence, as you well know. I'm not sure why this would be happening. Let me have a look at some of his recent stats. Do you know what he was doing before this?"
"He was being used on a project for the Art Forgeries dept. of the police. They were running some fraud detection processing modules."
"I see. Perhaps we ought to schedule an out-of-turn battery of poly-somnos, see if his sleep is all right."
"Hmm. Can you have them done early? The Directors are personally monitoring this new project and I want to make sure I have my angles covered if this goes bad."
She sighed. "It's a pity, though".
***
Anivaz Bannin awoke at 2:30 a.m. when she heard a noise in a nearby room. She lay in bed for five minutes hoping the noise was either a welcome figment of her imagination or just a one-off moment of the night that did not warrant any serious attention. The next sound, of something falling, coincided with her discovery that her husband was not in bed any more.
She hurried to her children's room and peered inside. Having reassured herself they were sleeping undisturbed, she made her way to the little third bedroom. It doubled as a room for sundry activities and as a starring location for many of her children's fantasies. There was a line of light under the closed door. Hesitating, she pushed it open slowly.
Her husband was on his knees. They stared at each other for a few seconds - he, in embarrassment, she in sleep that was yet to clear.
"Mo, what are you up to in the middle of the night?" she asked in a flat voice.
"Um, I'm looking for a brush. I knocked over this table, you see. These brushes fell down."
She switched the larger light on and took in the scene. There were some white drawing sheets on the bed, a dish for mixing water colours, and three brushes. Their daughter's painting book was open.
She sat down on the corner of the bed. "What are you up to, Mo", she gently asked.
By now, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, shoulders drooping. He tried to explain.
The conversation resumed as Anivaz put down two cups of hot chocolate on the dining table.
"But how do you think we're going to manage?"
"You think I haven't thought about that? I don't fully know the answer to that, though. But we should be able to, with your income."
"You're being whimsical. That's what I think."
"I know. But I really want to do this all the time now. I can't really do anything else - I don't have the skills. I mean, look at me, I have a career like an energy cell - plugged in and nothing to do. I thought that was ideal for me. But now I want to do this. Especially now with the synaesthesia getting more intense."
"Why don't you talk to Dr. Gyle? Maybe he can give you something more for it."
Mo snorted. "Dr. Gyle! He's a corporate leech. I hate sitting near him. One whiff of whatever perfume he uses and I start seeing red, literally."
She smiled for an infinitesimal moment.
"You and I are going to talk about this in daylight. And I better make sure I hang on to my job." she said.
***
Savar was annoyed. He didn't like the fact that he had to give up his massage hour to discuss HR issues - wasn't that why he had a HR department? But Bannin wasn't an average employee and he now realized the folly of putting some much branding power on one person's face. If he hadn't already fired those PR consultants for overcharging Cirrus, well, he would now have had them shot out of a cannon.
Nkul, Karti, and Aminesh, the Communications director, were sitting in front of him.
"So what does he really want?" asked Savar.
"Nothing. He just wants to quit, that's all", replied Karti.
"Does he have a better offer elsewhere? I mean, why?"
"Says he's quitting the field for good. I don't know if we can take him at face value at that - could be leveraging his position and fame elsewhere.", said Aminesh.
Karti rose to Bannin's defence: "Well, Bannin's not like that - from what I know. I'd believe what he said."
"Is this guy stupid? I mean what else can he do? Says here he's a graduate in Sociology. Surely, he's got no practical experience in anything since? Been a bloody vegetable, hasn't he?" said Savar.
Nkul and Aminesh exchanged glances. They hoped Savar didn't describe their employees (officially, their ëvaluable assets') as ëvegetables' outside this room.
"Yes. But now he is."
"So what's the loss in real terms?" asked Nkul.
"Well, he's been one of our best performing neurocentres. We get a lot out of his type of brain. And there's a question of morale among the rest." said Karti.
"We'll have to unplug the recruitment campaign for sure. Though, to be honest, it's well past its shelf life and this could well be the reason to switch."
"What's all this synaesthesia problem of his? You guys better ensure we don't end up with a medical lawsuit on our hands. Get him to sign a waiver or something."
"Sir, Bannin isn't going to do anything of that sort. In fact, he doesn't have a complaint about becoming synaesthetic, and nor has he attributed it directly to his work." Karti was becoming a little restive at Savar's paranoia.
"I agree" said Nkul. "In fact, it's almost as he welcomes it. Like he's got religion or something."
"As long as he doesn't go about telling everyone that we've screwed up his head, let him go." said Aminesh.
Karti wasn't amused but she let that pass.
***
For once (and perhaps the last time), Mian was sitting beside Bannin on the Metro journey back home. Bannin wasn't hiding behind a broadsheet this time. He seemed to be breathing in the sights on the other side of the window panes.
As the train doors closed at the last stop before Bannin's station, Mian said: "They were all talking about you at lunch, you know."
"Hmm", he replied distractedly.
"There's nothing wrong with you, right? I mean, medically. There's a rumour going around that your neural circuits have worn out or something."
Mian was surprised to see Bannin turn towards him and laugh out loud.
"No man, not at all. Quite the opposite. I feel fresh, I feel great. If mind renting did that to me, then I'll recommend it to everyone, really, I would!"
"Then why are you quitting?"
"I can't do that any more - I feel I've got to get out there and do things, you know, really do. I've spent 35 years of my life without knowing that feeling, and now it's all around me."
Whatever the internal memo said, Mian thought, this man has changed, his personality's all different. Or was he on neurospays, like someone said? Gossip had it that Bannin had to be dosing on artificial stimulants to be that good. And that it was giving him visions and hallucinations now.
Bannin stood up abruptly.
"It's my stop", he announced loudly, to no one in particular.
He didn't bid goodbye to Mian. Mian was used to this, so he didn't mind. Anyway, Mian was sure Bannin would realize his foolishness pretty soon (when the money for the neurospays ran out?).
***
Six months later, Savar found himself staring at a drawing on paper. It was a little seaside scene, with little brown ships against a blue sky and some crows. He turned to Nkul, who was standing next to him.
"It's cute - but, I mean, my son can do this, and he's eight."
Nkul looked at the label next to the painting. It read "R. Binnan".
"Sir, this is by Binnan's daughter. I understand she's seven."
He saw Karti wave a hand at him.
"Looks like Karti's found the elder Binnan's paintings."
Savar began loosening his tie. As soon as the three of them had entered the little hall, they had become aware how over-dressed they were for the annual exhibition of the Impressionello Drawing & Sketching Club.
Pushy parents, eager kids, unsure guests, and puffed-up tutors were everywhere.
As they struggled past well-wishers of the various ëarty brats', as Savar called them, he whispered to Nakul:
"I still don't understand this business. Makes no sense to me why you'd quit doing something which you are naturally good at, and in a place where you're treated like a star."
"Sir, I think the operative word is just that, doing. I don't think Binnan considered his work at Cirrus as ëdoing' anything."
They joined Karti in front of five papers on the wall. On each was neatly penciled "M. Binnan".
Savar considered the first one. It was entitled "Whispers of the Wind". He took an instant dislike to the painting, which consisted of some blue stubbly lumps and what looked like a leaf in the corner.
"Well, this is a lot worse than what Binnan's daughter or my son would produce in the middle of watching cartoons."
Nkul chuckled. He agreed and this time he wasn't trying to suck up.
"So Karti", said Savar, "we're taking bets on when Binnan comes crawling back. Care to put some money?"
Karti smiled and shook her head.
"I don't think you get it, sir. I think he's out for good. He may be utter crap, but then he's probably at a five-year old's level at the moment. And he's, or at least he claims that he does, seeing the world differently now."
"C'mon, the guy sucks. And in terms of creating anything of value, he's better off as a neurocentre. He was putting his mental faculties to the best possible use, was a useful member of society."
"That's what we'd think. Especially you. You call them vegetables one day and praise their social worth the other". Nkul was surprised to see Karti so vocal in the presence of Savar.
She continued.
"Yes, for those who couldn't or didn't want to put themselves out through the grind of learning a skill or producing something from within, we've got the best career plan ever. We've never had a Bannin happen to us until now, and it's come as a surprise that someone could voluntarily let a life of reasonably well-paid peace go by. But some rent-boys want to own their own house, I think."
She broke off as Bannin walked towards them. He was beaming.
"Sir, Mr. Nkul, Ma'am, absolutely thrilled to see you all here. I'm so glad you haven't forgotten this old employee of yours."
Savar made one of his magnanimous "oh, come on" motions.
"We were quite curious to know how you were doing. This is nice", he lied, pointing to the sketches.
"Oh sir, you're just being kind. It's actually quite bad, but I'm getting better. You should have seen what I was making three months ago."
Savar blinked away visions of that horror.
"If I can figure out a way to transfer even ten percent what I see and experience in my head, I'd be a master painter. My teacher - it's that old gentleman there - says we'll continue taking tiny dips into the ocean."
Soon, Binnan excused himself - he had to welcome another guest.
The three of them moved away to a corner to sip their tea.
"I really hope this isn't something the work's done to him. Otherwise, we're going to be producing bad artists by the thousands" mused Nkul.
Savar and Karti laughed. Nkul joined in late, for he hadn't meant it as a joke.
"I'll grant him this - very reluctantly though", said Savar, gesturing towards Binnan. "The idiot looks very happy. I don't think I've seen anyone like that at work."
He turned to Karti & Nkul.
"Why is t hat, why isn't anyone looking happy at work? What are we doing wrong?"
"Sir, they're in a dreamless sleep all the time, so there's not much to be happy or sad about, is there?"
Karti decided she could be impertinent today. "Have you got any secret hobbies of your own, sir?" she said.
"Yes, I like putting young upstarts in their place."
Karti stiffened until she saw a smile peep out.
They looked at Bannin as he tried explaining the mess on the walls to his latest guest, who seemed perplexed.
Bannin still looked delighted with it.
END.
