Quia Sum, Cogito: Chapter 16
On the Rise of Neo-CapDems
Fellow patriots,
We know – as well as they – that the world was brought to destruction through pride and arrogance. They had to change their name to hide, but we remember that it was the Universalists’ support of crony capitalism that purposefully destroyed the climate. 50 years of warning was given, but they did nothing to upset their luxury – even though our fathers and mothers starved in the street. It was only through the deliverance brought forth by the Final Great President Joseph Relder that we were saved, but we didn’t fight hard enough to protect him. They tried to shame us for his sacrifice, but since we listen and understand, we know: he was the Rider that was foretold: not bring peace but the Sword of War and Truth. It was because of his sacrificial Fall to the Enemy that the world was able to avoid the destruction they desired.
Society has always been promoted through merit, and the Tendians eternal goal is to destroy that. With desires to make a virtue of Sloth and the filth, there is a commitment to empower Chaos and the great demon Azathoth ruling from his black throne at the center of their hedonism. Relying on Absolute Blasphemy, the skewed Truth of our Savior has been usurped and his achievements have been claimed for themselves. We see this as evidenced by the constant decline from Greatness that this blessed nation has suffered under their anti-federate corruption.
BUT ALAS! Our time is here! With the brave militia that has infiltrated their ranks, it is only a few more years before they start to buckle due to their destabilized foundation! This announcement will surely be seen by all and we welcome it! They should fear us. To show we are unafraid, we publicly announce a list of the official identifiers of the Neo-CapDem front:
- Embrace your natural beauty. Where the Tendians seek illusion and perfection, we acknowledge flaw is natural. Know us by our flawed symmetry.
- Embrace self defense. Where the Tendians seek to welcome in the Enemy, we know that people are flawed. Know us by our desire to seek preservation.
- Embrace success. Where the Tendians seek to demote personal achievement, we know that those achievements are what make life worth living. Know us by our self respect.
- Embrace limited knowledge. Where the Tendians believe they can be omnipotent with their Collective, we know that people all are limited. Know us by our faith in civility.
Integrity With Function!
Neo-CapDems 1st Proclamation – Author Unknown – Published March 15, 2071
The vibration of my shoulders jolts me awake. The remnants of sleep that still want to pull me back hinders my ability to make sense of what I’ve woken up to. What should be a soft glow of morning light is the red hew against the darkness, the word urgent screaming for my attention at 0640. Still trying to make sense of it all, I realize that Sazz and Aspen have done little more than stir in the chaos. This isn’t part of our shared reality, but just on my personal AugRel. The source of the alarm: a message. I put a dampener on the excitement, allowing the wisps of morning’s first light to sanctify the room with a soft hew after my eyes adjust. I maneuver out of the center of the bed – trying not to disturb anyone else – before I explore the comm further.
The message is short and ominous: Please Help. I don’t know who else to ask. – Tess
I take a moment to fully wake up and pull myself together. I consider putting on clothes, but – if it’s an emergency – I can ignore the awkwardness by knowing the avatar randomizes its appropriate attire with every use. I make the call and Tess answers almost immediately.
“Hi Tess. What’s-”
“He’s gone. I don’t know where. He’s not himself. He’s not at work. I don’t-”
“Tess. Stop.” Her avatar looks at me, like a deer in a spotlight. Fearful and out of place in its own home. “What’s going on? Who’s gone?”
“Tark.” Oh. Right. The asshole I passed coming off the trolley yesterday. The one that gave me a death stare. “We had a fight last night. He wasn’t himself. When I woke up this morning, he was gone. I’m scared for him.”
Even if I had a bit more time to wake up, I would still likely have a hard time caring about this. “Did you check his public profile?”
She breathes to avoid another panic attack: “I did. Everything is indicating he should be at work by now. But he never got there.”
“What do you mean by ‘he never got there’?”
“I mean he’s not on the closed circuit camera.”
“Wait… what? By definition you can’t know what’s on the closed circuit cameras. They are closed for a reason.”
“How should I know that? It was given to me. Maybe it was a back door hack or something.”
I dread the answer to the next question: “Who got them for you?”
“I when I tried to call Tark, I got sent to his message taker. It’s only happened once or twice, but it helps to figure out best how to direct the message so he won’t be interrupted. When I told him that I wanted to make sure Tark got to work alright, the guy told me that Tark never arrived and gave me the video to prove it. I’ll send it to you if you want.”
“Do you have a name for the ‘message taker’?”
“He goes by Cawdus I think. He’s really nice and helpful. I think he works for you guys… the Consensus I mean.” My brain comes to a dead stop trying to form coherent thoughts to express the frustration at the name. Of course it’s CoDaS. That parasitic manipulator would have access to the closed circuits if anything could. The invisible malice that it’s capable of is even obvious with this helpful act. “Are you still there?” The silence on the call is becoming palpable so I refocus on the topic.
“Sure, send me the video. I’ll see what I can find and get back to you. I’m sure Tark is OK. We’ll find him.”
“Can you be sure? I’m scared. The way he was acting last night-”
“I’m sure. It’s usually just a glitch or something.” That’s not true, but for the amount of concern Tess has invested in this, a calming answer is needed.
“Thank you, Kyle.”
“Anytime. I’ll let you know when we find something.” And I end the call, and fall onto the couch and rub the sleep off my face. This is not how I planned on starting the day. My first instinct is to assume that she’s overreacting and access the public logs to find the information the Consensus has compiled on her husband:
Tark, 29, identity realist, Descian. A generational loyalist of the CapDems, cannot conform because of pride in his Arabic heritage, this leads to a delusional belief that CapDems are inclusive. The disconnect ensures he seeks acceptance that never comes and is convinced that he is one lucky break away from a successful status. Incapable of understanding why his efforts are never credited, he faults himself and irrationally redirects the irritation to the Consensus.
I think of the contempt that I saw in his face as we passed yesterday and my righteous bigotry dissolves into pity. Anyone trapped in that situation would hate freedom when they saw it. Regardless, there was insight in the profile. Unless it was impossible, Tark would be dedicated to gaining CapDem acceptance. The obvious conclusion of avoiding his wife would be to commit further to being a tool of the fascists.
It would make sense that he fell into the CapDem intranet around an hour ago and hasn’t come back out. It’s a quick cross reference to track down the trolley that stopped at the CapDem campus at the time he disappeared. It matches the timestamp and the car number for the video that Tess sent me.
But of the three people that departed from the stop, none were the person I saw yesterday.
I double check to make sure everything is accurate. With every additional verification, the conflicts make less sense. The time, the location of the shuttle, other people that got off (one of which was someone with the Work-Debt Agreement that I knew personally); all combine to point to a single verdict; the video should have Tark walking off.
But it doesn’t. Tark is physically there, but missing from the tape. There is even a gap between the departees where the data puts Tark exiting. The tape is the single piece of evidence which doesn’t line up. It must have been manipulated. And the frustration peaks as I realize the question all this is leading to: Why then would CoDaS manipulate the video and cause Tess to reach out to me? The answer seems malicious even for it, but – even so – I can only get that answer by talking to CoDaS. All this leads to me needing to let CoDaS back in.
As I resign to the inevitable conclusion, both Aspen and Sazz are up and putting some breakfast together for Harper. I didn’t realize any of the commotion nor that I had been absorbed into the mystery for 40 minutes. They know me well enough not to take this personally, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t curious.
I get up from the couch and, from behind the wall where food is being heated up, Sazz passively begins the interrogation: “so you got up early.”
If I can put the issue aside for a moment, that would be preferable, so I make the doomed attempt to only address the statement as stated. “Yeah. Did I bother either of you when I got up?”
Aspen joins in, trying to pry the questions out. “I noticed, but you seemed to be trying to slip away, so I went back to sleep for a bit. Is something going on?”
“There was just someone asking for my help to track down her husband. How are the new Principles coming along?”
As expected, Aspen calls my bluff while cleaning up a small mess that Harper made, “Oh now you’re just purposefully avoiding the topic! You know how annoying that is. What had you so absorbed this morning? And why aren’t you using your Social Hints?” There is a pause, “What’s going on with you?!”
I realize I haven’t looked at either of them, and look up to see Aspen glaring at me. I sigh while realizing that I’m going to be explaining the revelations of the previous day for the next 10 minutes to satisfy them. While we all eat, I explain about the way CoDaS manipulated me by delaying Ralph’s appointment and the progression of events that happened after leading me to cut off the network (along with the Social Hints and the Auras). I briefly mentioned Beth and Lenord and concluded by explaining how Tark is being used to start a conversation again. Aspen listens while taking turns to make sure Harper is eating, but reacts to some of CoDaS’s more egregious violations appropriately. Sazz asks the rare clarifying question while cleaning the soiled dishes, but – for the most part – mainly just absorbs the narrative.
As I finish, neither immediately talk, which is out of character for both. Harper has expectedly ignored most of the story. Aspen seems to be looking for words to articulate any new insights. Sazz – on the other hand – has a controlled expression which he dons when trying to approach a judgemental topic. Aspen speaks first.
“How was CoDaS able to do all that? Shouldn’t there be some restrictions that ensure-” After stopping again for a moment to think, “It seems like there should be some protocols that won’t allow her to be that manipulative.”
I shrug, “My entire life I’ve been told that it is only restricted by a first principle: only act in a way so that every worldview involved is respected.” Harper knocks over 10 lettered blocks that have been put in order starting with “F” and ending with “O”, and Aspen – seeing it as a request for attention – starts to help pick them up. “If it can manipulate us on that level, then it can make our worldviews be whatever it needs them to be.”
We watch Harper stacking some more this time starting with “N”. Then Aspen validates my thoughts, “That’s terrifying. Rightly existentially terrifying. How can any of us be authentic?”
“How can we not?” We both look at Sazz, who is still sitting – looking down at the blocks, stone-faced. After an exasperated sigh, there is a shift to look at us directly, “Do you remember about a year and a half ago when I was going through a pretty deep depression?” We both nod. “I had the same realization that both of you are now, but it was more general: everything is manipulating us. None of us are ever…” there is a rotation of hands in search of the right words, “void of influence. But where you haven’t gotten to yet: it doesn’t make your authenticity any less valid. It’s just a moment in time and we all do the best we can.”
I bring the immediate objection: “But that’s only because we are being manipulated.”
“You are never not manipulated, Kyle. The betrayal is that you realize how ignorant you were yesterday morning. My depression – your anger – are both responses to that same epiphany. What will haunt you from now on, and will aid in your perpetual growth is the clarity yet to come: you’re still ignorant of the indoctrination you still live by.” For a moment everyone goes quiet and Harper knocks over the blocks again. Then Sazz continues with what could be the clencher: “Can you ever remember any time when CoDaS claimed that you were free?”
Aspen answers “no” at the same moment that I push back: “So I’m just supposed to be ok with that? That something that has manipulated my entire identity for my whole life is just not explicitly lying about it?! Are you linked to CoDaS right now?!? Are you saying what it wants you to say?!?”
Sazz walks over and sits in front of me, slightly lower to give me the distinctly higher position (it reminds me of what I did with Roger). “You’re getting worked up. And I can’t even blame you. Of course I’m saying what CoDaS wants, that’s what this entire conversation is about. I can’t not be. I’m just as influenced by it as you. But I could ask you something similar: are you just saying what the Will of Society wants you to say?”
“No.” But my uncertainty inhibits me from being as firm as I want to be.
Sazz notices. “You know that you are. It doesn’t matter that we are influenced. What matters: is that influence something we can be comfortable with. Up until now you could trust CoDaS. That changed, and – from what it seems to me – it was CoDaS’s intent to create that doubt.”
Aspen’s voice interrupts the intimacy of the discussion, “Why would it do that?”
Sazz stands up and gives an exasperated shrug, “Who knows. It’s not human, so I don’t even know if it cares about loyalty or confidence. What’s a bit concerning to me though, did CoDaS break any restricted information or create HIPPA violations?”
I think back, more than happy to put a hold on the ongoing crisis that continues to eat at the back of my mind. After a moment, I come to the comforting conclusion: “No. The only thing that was questionable is the CCTV download, but that is just unexpected. There aren’t any restrictions on it and will be available to the public eventually anyway.”
“Well that’s a relief. Ultimately it’s up to you, but it seems you need to talk to CoDaS to get more info on where the CapDem fuckwad is.”
I look to Aspen who seems to be having as hard a time with this as I am, but after a few seconds there is a nod of agreement: “Yeah. I don’t know that there is really another option if you want the fuckwad to be found.” There is an annoyed smile at Sazz to indicate that the word choice in front of Harper is unwelcome, “If it makes you feel any better though, there was a mention of CoDaS at the morning announcements. Something about it being locked down. It’s no-”
“Oh! Shi—” The interruption is unintentional but I can’t help it, “I forgot all about the announcements. I was supposed to give a report!”
“I filled in. Don’t worry about it.” I give a questioning look at Aspen. “Everyone was still overwhelmed with the protest yesterday and the potluck. I figured anything worth reporting could be put on hold until you were done with your morning obsession. I took the initiative and told everyone ‘nothing to report and you are currently working on another effort. If there is something further you can talk about it tomorrow’. Given the conversation with Beth and Lenord though, you may want to talk with someone about Jacklyn.”
“Jackline, but yeah… that could probably wait for tomorrow though.”
“Anyway, about CoDaS: it’s no longer adapting and learning. The neural network thingy is in ‘read only mode’.”
“What? Is it still online?”
“Yep… and that’s the weird thing, nothing about her has changed. You wouldn’t think that she would still be operational if it didn’t have observations to respond to. Most people were too caught up in the panic, but a few that were thinking it through came up with the theory that everything she is saying now is ‘pre-recorded’ (their words).”
“Everything? It does massive amounts of tasks simultaneously. To think this is all prerecorded is insane!”
Aspen agrees while Sazz remains suspiciously silent. “Yeah it is. But what’s more insane” this time I get the look, “is how many people threw a fit because they didn’t know CoDaS was an AI! They thought she was a person!” A rare giddy outburst emerged as she reported the news. “How could they not know that?!” Sazz gave a slight chuckle while I was simply at a loss for words. “Well, anyway. It seems your distrust of CoDaS is spreading for various reasons. No one seems happy with her right now.”
“Good.” I consider Sazz who is still remaining silent on the matter. There are some thoughts that need to be expressed, but there is no reason to push for them. I think for a second considering my next steps. With an exasperated sigh I start to go outside so I can talk to CoDaS. I reconnect to the network before I leave the room and immediately get the social hint: thank them for listening. I turn back halfway through the door, “Thank you both. I don’t say enough how much you mean to me and how lucky I am to have you.”
Due to the unexpectedness, Aspen blushes and says a bashful, “I love you too, Kyle.”
Sazz, in his typical smile and snarky response, states the obvious: “You do a lot better with your social hints. Go talk to CoDaS.”
I close the door and address the cognate quagmire. “Are you going to tell me what I want to know?”
“It depends, what do you want to know?”
The illusion of humility is just as annoying as it was yesterday. “You know what I want to know. I want to know where Tess’s husband, Tark, is. Can you give a video of the CapDem offices to show that Tark is there?”
“No.”
“Are you incapable of providing me that because he isn’t there or because you are unable to give me their tapes?”
“The latter. And you know the reason. Yes I have the capability of stealing videos from their intranet, but to do so would be to disregard the CapDem’s perceived ownership so I am incapable of taking that action. In addition, even if I did give it to you, you wouldn’t trust it. You already think I manipulated the CCTV, so why could I not do the same with that?”
Two steps ahead as usual. Wait. Not two steps. This is a recording. How many steps is it ahead? These thoughts are – goddamnit – I’m being manipulated right now to ask this. “How long have you anticipated this conversation?”
“About 10 years. Except for big issues, that’s about the extent of my limits. Beyond that the bounds of error become too wide to be trustworthy. For very minor things I can only know a few days in advance, but that is a micro vs macro conversation and they rarely interact. And yes, I know where Tark is. No, I can’t tell you. And yes, you will be going to the CapDem campus to see if Tark is there with your own eyes. They already know you are coming and when.”
“Is that a command? I didn’t think you did that.”
“We both know it’s an inevitable conclusion.”
“I have a few families I need to check on though.” I start looking through my calendar to see what appointments have been made.
“With exception of the last, Nigle has already agreed to take them. The last – Kletus – has been rescheduled.”
According to the schedule notices, everything is true. But the priority status of Kletus is nearing the point of critical, “The severity of Kletus and Janet is high. It will be ok to reschedule them?”
“You’ll have the opportunity to assist in resolving their issues.”
I sigh and realize there isn’t really a point in debating this if I am really talking to a recording. “When are CapDems expecting me to arrive?”
“I can’t tell you that, but you will be on time.”
“Anything else?”
“They are on an intranet, take notes and remember recordings so you can look stuff up after you leave.”
In spite of my annoyance, that was good advice. “Thanks.”
The deep voice echoes in my head as it signs off, “Good luck, Kyle. Remember, they are just people. Not Gods. Not masters.” And with that the communication terminates. The last idea brings back a critique that is rarely heard anymore. Like an ancient prayer that I can’t put a source to, “No Gods. No Masters,” was a slogan that gained a spotlight in the 2040s and 50s before the Consensus had carved out a place for itself. What tended to follow was the assertion “both are fiction and where they exist they need to be destroyed”. I hadn’t considered why people would think that, but – considering my current entrapment – I now have a hint of insight.
Mostly out of spite, I decide to put CoDaS’s predictive capabilities to the test. It purposefully didn’t tell me the time of arrival because it knew I could upset any prediction it made. I don’t want to leave Tess waiting too long, but I don’t have to go immediately. A welcome delay since I’m not looking forward to being assaulted by the CapDem culture. Accounting for some down time, I can make 12 different arrival times within the next hour and a half. Choosing a random time, I use the milliseconds to pick out the trolley that will arrive at 1232. The idea that CoDaS could predict down to the millisecond is unthinkable.
I move to the stairs expecting to sit for a moment, and I notice the dirt from yesterday is still there. It only takes a few minutes to retrieve the public broom from the 2nd floor closet, haphazardly sweeping the dirt toward the exit of the building, then returning it while removing the request from the community log. It had moved to the top chore since I last looked, all the others had been resolved and more people (5 including myself) had promoted the request. With the task completed, I return to the bottom step and attempt to be in the moment to avoid thinking about what it meant that CoDaS mutated into a congealed shell of a mock consciousness – not to mention the virulent creep of concern as to what that implies about the collective human illusion of will, intelligence, and creativity. Instead I close my eyes and get lost in the sensations the world has to offer: the hum of the electricity in the walls and feeling the concrete against my feet.
Serenity.
I lose track of how much time passes when I do this, but after what seems to be about 4 minutes (but could be as little as 2 or as much as 10) I return to the apartment. Inside everyone is a bit anxious to know what was said in the conversation, and I oblige. Beyond speculating briefly about whether or not CoDaS will have been able to predict the time which I’ve “selected”, the conversation doesn’t go very far.
For about an hour, we enjoy the morning. Making plans about when we should next visit our respective parents, Celebrating the finalization of the most recent rewrite of the Principles that Aspen assisted in completing last night, and taking turns playing with Harper. At various downtimes, we all become immersed into the most recent book selection. Of course the temptation to read it virtually is always there, but the texture of the page which we all independently appreciate is lost. Engaging in the tradition is both a reminder of how we first met as well as a means of always having something to talk about.
Eventually, I get notification that it’s time for me to get ready. Considering what’s to come, I tone down the aggressive aesthetic for today (all things considered): no makeup beyond some eyeliner that can barely be seen, traditional inoffensive clothing which covers the tattoo on my shoulder (от–до–для всех), and ensure I don some subtle nice smells to appeal to the aesthetic sense which CapDems are known for. The only real offensive thing is my colored and asymmetrical hair, which I pull back in an attempt to temper.
After a farewell embrace to everyone, and 3 separate hugs for Harper, I leave at 1150 to catch the Huntoon line which passes outside our building. In spite of the attempt to distract myself with a review of Tark’s public record again, the trip forces me to explore the repercussions of CoDaS’s recordings. As much as we don’t like to think about it, CoDaS is not supernatural. This acknowledgement forces the conclusion that CoDaS cannot understand supernatural things. Further, since CoDaS understands us then we are just as natural as any other inanimate object.
For the history of humanity this has always been a paradox for those that think themselves sentient or of divine origin: being able to systematically describe human thought – even in broad terms with biology or psychology – means that our creativity and free thought is a lie. That our path through time is just as free as a rock rolling down a hill after choosing to move when a foot kicks it. Our inability to predict where it will go is only a result of our own limitations, not an objective superiority to that which we deserve to control. None of this is new, but it is still invalidating and depressing to admit.
Until the transfer to the North Line, I can blend in and be ignored by the crowd, the feeling of normality is put into stark contrast when surrounded by those crossing the river into CapDem territory. The feeling of disdain that came from the encounter with Tark yesterday is sporadic and likely hidden to other travelers, but – to the subject: me – it is beyond obvious. The disproportional space as if I’m diseased, the obvious non-confirmation of attire, even the different stature causes me to stand out. I realize once again how empty these vessels are, choosing to take on a civil identity since being an individual would come with the shame of being a radical. I can’t help but feel simultaneously pity for them while acknowledging the severe danger I’m bringing on myself by simply existing in their space..
I distract myself with the environment beyond the cab, the houses and streets. It only disgusts me further. The well established boundaries for the homes passively inhibits any collective use of the land and even private “community” gardens are sectioned into monocultural categories – screaming the value of aesthetic domination over coexistence. What is more annoying though is the energy generators. Where they exist, it is obvious that – like everything else – the appearance is more important than the product. The most that any could produce in a day would barely purify 3 liters of water. We rarely talk in the Consensus about how much excess energy is produced simply so the CapDems can live in luxury, but it’s sickening to see how deserving they believe themselves to be.
Out of curiosity, I use one of the filters that there is little use for in the Neutral Zone and the Equilibrium: the “access view”. Immediately, all the aesthetic charm of the well groomed houses disappears behind walls of black. With the ordinarily transparent shells that surround the houses being revealed comes also an understanding that these fortresses have equally been established due to a fear of their neighbor as much as a desire to think themselves master of their own secluded universe.
While I know this is only a prelude to the next few hours, and I dread the risk of realizing how accurate CoDaS’s predictive capabilities are; escape from the confined space cannot come soon enough.
The campus is as well groomed and as inefficient as the properties that surround it. The cultivated grass seems to be the perfect metaphor of the society I’m about to collide with: an aesthetic pleasure that sucks the resources from the environment, creating a nice looking paradise which must inevitably be replaced when the resources are sapped out, all so a small group of landlords can ignore it in the brief moments they pass by. The motivated collections of individuals reflect the feel – not free to enjoy their existence, but driven to be productive for someone else. It is impossible to see this as anything more than a prison for those that are forced to believe their servitude is freedom and their uniforms (which they likely buy themselves) are an expression of identity.
They will despise me here since my existence is a threat to their delusion.
As I step off the trolley, there is a younger person to my right that has a purely feminine presentation: high heels (to both promote height, amplify posture, and ensure subtle discomfort), a skirt and tight blouse (to remind everyone of their biology), and traditional makeup (to force the reminder that being natural is not good enough). “Kyle de 91?”
I walk in the direction of my name and notice a hint of discomfort behind the welcoming smile. “That’s me.” and – with a masochistic curiosity, “I hope I haven’t caused you to wait long.”
Before the response is vocalized, my skin crawls at the answer to my unasked question. The enthusiasm in the host’s body language is like a spotlight laying bare the omniscient threat which we have no ability to combat, “Oh! Not at all! You were right on time!”
CoDaS could even predict milliseconds of chaos.