Delicious Zeal

Chapter 1 EARTH, North America, 2067 “We’re making progress, Dr. Overton.” The patch manager, Kira Banks handed Dr. Peter Overton a report. “You can take this to your board,” Kira said. She folded her arms with satisfaction. Her nose ring glinted in the sterile light of the programming room. All around, programmers typed away on computers and watched screens that monitored the world of Moderation Online in strings of code. Dr. Overton paged through the report to an executive summary. In essence, we are making progress. 1. The processed foods’ hold on the world is weakening. 2. Humans are beginning to understand that processed foods are evil, through our covert programming efforts. 3. The vegetable terrorists continue to work on their mission. A human, Kendall Barnes, is among them. Dr. Overton nodded as he read the statement. He sighed with relief, though he was still tense. At least now, maybe he'd be able to give some good news to the hospital board, to the patients’ families, to the press. “This will help,” Dr. Overton said. “But how will you build on this?” “Our programming efforts are working,” Kira said. “We’re reverse-engineering the virus by targeting and altering as many AIs that we can.” A 3D model of Parson, the new vegetable king, appeared on screen. The parsnip grinned, holding a scepter and wearing King Carrodias’s ceremonial golden crown. “An unfortunate setback has been that our efforts to alter vegetable AI has created some vulnerabilities that the virus is exploiting,” Kira said. “Damn,” Dr. Overton said. “That's bad, right?” Kira shrugged. “Depends on how optimistic you are.” Dr. Overton looked around the room. It was hot—a too many people in the room kind of hot—but the programmers looked content. They weren't stressing out like the last time he was here. Though maybe they were stressed last time because he chewed them all out. “I'm glad,” he said. “I was starting to worry.” “Tell the board not to do anything drastic,” Kira said, tapping on the report. “This is the picture of progress.” Dr. Overton returned to the report. “Help me understand these—is this really what they're called…Cubes?” Someone in the room laughed. “It just sounds silly,” Dr. Overton said. “Would you rather us have called them Logic Extraction Points?” “Huh?” “Everything humanity makes has seams of some kind, right? Clothing. Computers. Cars. Start pulling at the seams, and you can get to the heart of whatever it is you're constructing. Follow?” “Yes, I understand. Even the human body has seams, if you wanted to push the analogy further into my territory.” Kira snapped her fingers and pointed to a programmer. Someone entered a rapid set of keystrokes, and lines of code appeared on the master screen at the front of the room. It looked like a rainbow, and against the black background, almost magical. “We can't hide certain things in the game. All of our AI and programming has to be stored somewhere.” “Got it. So the Cubes are liabilities, huh?” “The virus commandeering the Logic Extraction Points would be akin to them debugging and rewriting the entire game. But worse, they would be able to do damage to our servers, where all of our files live. Additionally, they would be able to compromise your life support systems, putting the lives of your patients in danger.” “They would be able to play God,” Dr. Overton said. “God,” Kira said. “We never thought of it that way, but sure.” Dr. Overton gulped. He shut the laminated report and smiled. “Well, good luck, Kira. And let’s keep those Cubes out the processed foods’ hands, shall we?” “Dr. Overton, I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired of all this bullshit!” Jamilla Barnes cornered him outside the programming room. She carried a purse over her shoulder, was dressed in a work uniform—looked like a bus driver or some kind of government worker. A security guard accompanied her and waved his hands in apology. Dr. Overton sighed as Jamilla Barnes approached. Her long dreadlocks were tied into a ponytail and she had the look of a woman who hadn't slept in days. Her makeup was slightly run. Dr. Overton put on his best face and smiled, tucking the report under his arm. “Mrs. Barnes, what a pleasure.” “No pleasure in this,” Jamilla said. “I know,” Dr. Overton said. “I can't imagine how hard it must be to be without your husband, Kendall—” “You have no idea,” Jamilla said. “And I have every attorney in the city lined up to sue you into jail. But I can't because the game is still locked.” Threats. Not the first he'd heard. Nor the last. How many patients’ families had said the exact same words. It was like all the city’s attorneys were circling outside the hospital like sharks, waiting for first blood. But even they were too scared to take any legal action for fear of impeding the programmers’ progress. If that happened, all the patients might die. But the moment the game was back in the programmers’ control… Maybe there'd be hell to pay. Maybe not. “I know you want a status,” Dr. Overton. “But I truly can't give you more news that wouldn't infuriate you.” “Try me,” Jamilla said. Dr. Overton pulled the report from under his arm. “I shouldn't be showing you this, but I am happy to.” He shared the details of the executive summary. While he spoke, Jamilla had a glassy look in her eyes, like she was listening but not really caring. “So, it's clear to me, based on this report, that your husband is safe and in no apparent danger. Furthermore, our programmers are closer to unlocking the game world once and for all.” “Would you just listen to yourself?” Jamilla asked. “You're so clinical. Do you have any idea what I've been through? I've had to take on a part-time job just to put food on the table for my kids because they don't have a father. I don't know how I'm going to pay for his medical bills—” “Jamilla, as we discussed, the hospital will not be charging you for Kendall’s stay, as an apology. You will only have to pay for his heart attack treatment, and I am sure they will cut you a discount after all you've—” “You just care about getting me out of your face!” she cried. “What if this was your wife? What if this was your mother? How would you feel if you couldn't connect with them. What if you were in the same room with them, holding their hand, taking care of them, and they were in a completely different world, and no one could do anything about it? How would you feel, Dr. Overton, if the only solutions were patience? Just wait a little while longer, sir, and maybe you'll get your wife back. Huh?” Dr. Overton frowned. “Mrs. Barnes, what else would you have me do?” WHACK! Jamilla hit him on the arm with her purse. “Start by destroying that virus!” “This hospital had already spent nearly a billion dollars combating it. How else do you suppose we go about this?” “You could start by showing me sympathy. You don't give a damn about me or any of the other patients’ families!” “Not true. And I'm sorry if—” WHACK! This time, the purse hit him on the face and knocked his glasses off. The security guard grabbed Jamilla and pulled her back. “I want my husband back!” she shouted. “Bring him back, Dr. Overton. Bring him back. Bring him back!” Dr. Overton picked up his glasses and rubbed his cheek. He dropped the report, dazed. He unfolded his glasses and put them back on his face. “We’ll ban her from the premises,” the security guard said. “No, that's too aggressive,” Dr. Overton said. “Mrs. Barnes, I understand your frustration, and quite frankly, that blow was deserved. I'm doing my best and I will continue to fight for your husband’s safety.” “Bring him back!” she screamed. “BRING HIM BACK!” SLAM. The swinging doors to the programming ward shut, and the guard pulled Jamilla away. Dr. Overton rubbed his face. God, it was getting worse. All of it. Mrs. Barnes was one of the more pleasant encounters he'd had all week. He bent down to grab the report. Then he walked through the ward, into the hospital proper. He stopped at a window. He was one the twentieth floor. Outside, the skies were sunny and full of cumulus clouds. Below, on the lawns just off the hospital property, was a field of protestors. They carried signs and megaphones, and Dr. Overton could hear their muffled cries. KILL THE VIRUS ALREADY! PUT THE DOCTORS IN THE GAME! A line of police officers on horses held the dissenters back. The air was tense. For the last six months, Dr. Overton had had to come to work in a bulletproof car, and he'd been assigned a private bodyguard at home to protect him, his wife, and son. He couldn't go out in public. None of the doctors or hospital staff could. Late-night television hosts made jokes about the hospital—how this game, Moderation Online, was the biggest joke and worst medical experiment of all time. One in particular made him shudder every time he heard it. “There's something I want to know,” a suited host said from behind a desk, “who in the hell thought this was a good idea? This Dr. Overton guy wakes up one morning and thinks: Let's hook a bunch of people up to a video game and that will prevent them from having heart attacks? Are you kidding me? Here at the Midnight Show we decided to use a bit of that sage wisdom. We decided to hook up our staff to a computer to make them better employees…Let’s talk to them to see how things went…what's that? They're stuck to the computers and we can't save them now? Ah, well, guess we better just cancel the show. Seriously, we ought to strap those doctors to a machine and put them in the video game, see how they'd like being trapped.” Furious applause filled the studio. It bothered Dr. Overton how many people wanted to see him in pain. When he was just trying to help. When the world was on the verge of desperation. If he didn't do something, more people would have died. Had they forgotten that? The media riled the world up, and if he didn't do something, he was either going to end up dead or in jail. He thumbed through the report again, reading every word. Then, he made his way toward the patient ward and did what he had been dreading all day—he gave the patients’ families updates on his progress, one by one.