The Utopia Experiment

8

Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smith pressed the accelerator to the floor, but didn’t get much of a reaction from his ’68 Triumph. He’d given a lot of time and love to its restoration, but his mechanical skills had never quite lived up to his enthusiasm. The passenger door still had an annoying tendency to fly open when he turned left and the hesitation in the motor seemed to be getting worse now that fall temperatures were descending on the area. Time to swallow a little pride, step away from the tools, and take it to a shop.

He eased back on the gas and slowed to fifty, catching an occasional glimpse of the mist-covered Anacostia River through the trees. To anyone else, that image, the empty road, and the cool air flowing through the window would have been calming. For him, though, it was a drive that usually led to getting shot, stabbed, or thrown off something disconcertingly tall.

He flipped on the radio and used a worn knob to move through the stations. The news was typically depressing and he scanned past it, settling on a morning DJ until the show devolved into something about a juggling stripper. A few more turns took him to NPR and he was surprised to hear a familiar voice emanating from the static-ridden speakers.

“I’m telling you that it’s going to be completely transformational. Normally I don’t like to make predictions but there you go.”

It was his new friend from Vegas. Janine Redford.

“So when you say transformational,” the interviewer said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “Are we talking automobile transformational or just iPod transformational.”

“We’re talking about fire and agriculture transformational.”

The interviewer let out a more energetic laugh than was normal for public radio. “When you decide to predict, you really go all-in, don’t you, Janine? The Merge just came out. How much time could you possibly have on it?”

In fact, it had been available for just over twenty-six hours. Stores had popped into existence in the world’s major cities the week after Dresner’s presentation — assembled virtually overnight in spaces rented months before under oppressive secrecy. Smith had driven by the glass-and-neon Merge shop in DC the day before with the idea of stopping in, but the plan had turned out to be a bit naive. The line of potential customers was already wrapped around the block when he got there.

“I got it at a tech industry preview yesterday and have been using it pretty much constantly since then. In fact, I’m using it now.”

“You’re using it right now?” There was a moment of dead air. “For all of you listening, let me just say that Janine is not wearing a headset.”

Smith grinned and turned onto an inconspicuous road that wound down toward the river. It seemed that it hadn’t taken Janine long to overcome her youthful cynicism.

“I have to admit that I was resistant at first and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little peer pressure involved, but I’m an early adopter at heart.”

“And I have to admit that they’re totally invisible. I can’t see them at all.”

“The studs? Honestly, the whole thing is kind of a non-event. They clamp your head into this machine, put some headphones on you so you can’t hear the drill, and then it’s over.”

“No anesthesia?”

“It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a couple of cocktails first, but you don’t need anything more than that. The whole thing’s over in less than three seconds — too fast for you to feel it when it’s actually happening. A few hours later it starts to ache a bit but the thing’s so amazing, I keep forgetting to take my ibuprofen.”

“Did you try the headset before you did it? Are the studs worth it?”

“The headset experience is a little hazy and who wants to walk around with that thing on their head all day? The resolution with the studs is incredible. I now have twenty/fifteen vision without the contacts I’ve been wearing since junior high, and the audio quality is almost a religious experience.”

“So you hear through it? You have a mike on you somewhere like the hearing aid?”

“No, I still hear through my ears, unfortunately. But I downloaded my entire music library to it and the clarity is like nothing you’ve ever heard before.”

“Do you have the tooth mike, too?”

“No, I’m using the miniature under-the-collar mike. But I’ve got a call in to my dentist.”

“So what I’m hearing from you is that Dresner’s delivered.”

“If you tried to take it away from me, I’d beat you to death with a wrench.”

“I’ll take that as a warning. What about LayerCake?”

Smith eased to a stop in front of a flimsy-looking gate that was actually capable of stopping a fully loaded semi truck driving forty miles an hour. He leaned in close to the windshield and tilted his chin up, letting multiple hidden cameras get a good look.

“I’m still wrapping my mind around that — too much time playing Vampire Armageddon. The basic apps — things like weather and phone and GPS — seem pretty much flawless and the color-coding is incredibly intuitive. My hair dryer burned out yesterday and I was as the store staring at a huge shelf of them when I realized I could just use the Merge. I turned on LayerCake and a couple of seconds later picked the one with the darkest green glow.”

“But what about the evaluation of people that everyone’s talking about?”

“I’m reserving judgment at this point, but I have to admit that I think it’s going to work better than the press is giving it credit for. It’s been pretty accurate when I’ve looked at people I know well and I have to assume that it’s just as good for people I don’t know. And it’s only going to get better as it collects more data and collates user feedback,” Janine said.

The gate swung back and Smith pulled into what the sign said was the Anacostia Seagoing Yacht Club. The pleasantly winding asphalt and carefully landscaped berms reinforced that particular piece of fiction, but in fact had been designed to make a straight-on attack impossible. Smith winced as the Triumph scraped over a speed bump and then turned to parallel a dock full of boats that completed the illusion that this was just an extremely exclusive playground for wealthy yacht owners.

“It’s a brave new world,” the interviewer said, and Smith switched off the radio.

It sure as hell was.