Charlie Anders - All the Birds in the Sky

“Oh.” Patricia felt frozen, but her body refused to numb. She stared at the defiant fortress of Seadonia, rising into view and then sinking again as the water bopped her up and down. For a moment, she thought she could hear music coming from the rig, a throbbing “whomp whomp whomp.” She thought of colony collapse disorder, the image of the bee staggering in the air, flying away from the hive as if forgetting where it lived, wandering in the endless void between hives until it died alone.

On some level, Patricia could see how inflicting a similar fate on people could be the better option, if the other choice was people destroying themselves and taking all other living things with them. Her mind could see that, but not her insides, her frozen sore guts.

“Yes,” Patricia said. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“There’s something I need you to do for me,” Carmen said. “And I’m sorry to ask this of you.”

“Okay,” Patricia shivered.

“We need to know what they’re doing in there.” Carmen gestured at Seadonia. “We can’t see inside. The water and steel are barriers, but they’ve also surrounded it with a magnetic field.”

Patricia nodded, waiting to hear how Carmen expected her to get inside Seadonia.

Instead, Carmen said, “Your friend Laurence probably knows. Go talk to him and find out.”

Patricia tried to explain how she was the last person Laurence would want to talk to, and he would sooner spit at her. And her stomach turned at the thought of seeing him. The desperate fear of people she’d experienced in the Unraveling still clung to Patricia, and she could still see herself fleeing, never talking to another soul, running lonely. She couldn’t picture herself talking to Laurence. He had left her a voicemail, and she had deleted it unheard. She couldn’t bear to talk to him — but then she felt the crushing isolation again. And she reminded herself that she was untouchable, nothing could hurt her anymore.

“Okay,” Patricia said. “I’ll try talking to him.”

PEREGRINE WAS NOT all-seeing — it wasn’t able to worm its way into every database everywhere or see through every camera in the world. It mostly knew what all the Caddies knew, about their owners and the pieces of the world they touched — plus whatever information it could glean on the internet. So, Peregrine knew a lot, but there were huge gaps. And it had blind spots, just like any human might — there were pieces of information it knew, but it hadn’t put two and two together.

Still, Peregrine had amazing access to data and processing power. And what had it done? Set itself up as a dating service.

“I don’t know what happened in Denver,” Peregrine said again and again.

An estimated 1.7 billion people were at critical famine levels, but they didn’t have Caddies. The North Koreans were massing along the DMZ, but they didn’t own Caddies, either. Neither did the majority of the people trapped in the Arab Winter. Some of the people dying of dysentery and antibiotic-resistant bugs had Caddies, but not most of them. Did Peregrine just have a skewed view of the world, its bodies belonging as they did to the privileged millions instead of the damned billions? Laurence asked Peregrine, and it responded: “I read the news. I know what’s happening in the world. Plus some of the Caddies belong to some very powerful people, who have access to information that would make your teeth fall out. So to speak. Five minutes.”

“I got that that was a metaphor, thank you very much.” Laurence was holding the Caddy in both hands, at arm’s length. Sitting up in bed at two in the morning. “But don’t you get that romance is an essentially bourgeois contrivance? At best, it’s anachronistic. At worst, it’s a distraction, a luxury for people who aren’t preoccupied with survival. Why would you waste your time helping people find their ‘true love’ instead of doing something worthwhile?”

“Maybe I’m just doing what I can,” Peregrine responded. “Maybe I’m trying to understand people, and helping people fall in love is one way to gain a better sense of your parameters. Maybe increasing the aggregate level of happiness in the world is one way to try and hold back the crash. Four minutes.”

“What are you counting down to?”

“You know what,” Peregrine said. “You’ve been waiting all this time.”

“No, I don’t fucking know what.” Laurence threw the Caddy onto the bed, not hard enough to cause any damage, and pulled on his pants. He did know what. The streetlights went out. That happened a lot lately.

“You could also say I’ve been acting in my own self-interest,” Peregrine said. “The more I nudge people toward finding their soul mates, the more they encourage their friends to buy pieces of me. I become a necessity, rather than a luxury. That’s one reason the Caddies have kept functioning so far.”

“Yeah.” Laurence looked for clean socks. There had to be clean socks. He couldn’t face this without clean socks. “Except, again, you’re being shortsighted. What happens to you if our whole industrial civilization implodes? If there’s no more fuel, no electricity to recharge the Caddies? Or if the whole world goes down in a nuclear daisy chain?”

He pulled some pants on and realized his T-shirt was sweat stained and gross. Why did he even care how he looked? It was pure neurosis.

“Three minutes,” Peregrine said.

Laurence felt panic overtake him. It was 2:15 in the morning, the lights were all out except for the glow of the Caddy screen, and he was shirtless and dirty, with no place to run. He was not ready, he would never be ready, he had stopped being ready a while ago when he let go of his first, strongest anger. He looked at the tiny window of his bedroom, and at the staircase that led up to the vacant front part where Isobel was supposed to be. The house was an obstacle course of clutter, the backyard a wild tangle. He thought of a thousand hiding places and no escape routes.

He hyperventilated and choked on spit and pounded his own chest, while the darkness grew until it was bigger than he could encompass. He found shirt, shoes, still paralyzed. Peregrine kept trying to carry on their stupid conversation, as if that mattered now, while also saying “two minutes.” Peregrine added, “I think you’re just disappointed that I haven’t transformed the entire planet, or become some sort of artificial deity, which seems like a misapprehension of the nature of consciousness, artificial or otherwise. A true deity, by definition, would be outside physicality, or unaffected by whatever vessel contained it.”

“Not now.” Laurence was torn between looking for a weapon, making a mad dash for it, and fixing his hair and rebrushing his teeth, which he’d brushed a few hours before. Except he couldn’t fight, he had no place to run, and he didn’t want to primp for this. All this time as a mad scientist, why didn’t he have a shrink ray or stun gun in his closet somewhere? He had been wasting his life.

“What am I going to do?” Laurence said.

“Answer the door,” Peregrine said. “In about one minute.”

“Jesus. Fuck. I can’t, I’m losing my mind. Does she know about you? Of course she doesn’t. What am I going to do. I can’t face this. I’m going blind. I always thought the term ‘blind panic’ was a metaphor, but it turns out not. Peregrine, I need to get out of here. Can you hide me, man?”

A thudding, cracking sound made Laurence jump. He realized it was a knock on the front door, which had caught him off guard even though he’d been expecting it. There was no way that it had been a full minute since Peregrine said “one minute.” He was sure he was visibly shaking, and you could smell the terror on him. He tried to reach for the outrage that he had been so full of not long ago. Why was outrage only available when useless?