'Computer?' I felt silly saying it. But what else should I say?
Brownie's voice, disembodied. 'Yes?'
'Brownie?'
'I'm the interface for all personal services. How can I serve you?'
'Urn. Okay.' Still sorting it out. 'This wall display-this picture -it isn't just a TV, is it? It's like that big viewscreen on Star Trek, isn't it? Like a computer display?'
'It's a complete data-appliance. What do you wish to know?'
'Do you have databanks -like old newspapers? Like a library? Can you show me stuff from history?'
'I have T9 interconnectivity with all public Internexii levels and multiple private networks as well - '
'I don't know what that means.'
'It means, what do you wish to know?'
'The case I was working on. Can you show me that?'
'I can only show you information more than sixty years old. I am not allowed to show you material that would compromise local circumstances.'
'Urn, okay-that's fine. Do you have the information about the case I was working on when I was pulled out of my time.'
'Yes.' The image of the meadow rippled out, the wall became blank. Photographs of the missing boys popped up in two rows, with abbreviated details and dates of disappearances listed beneath each one. Twelve young men. Not Matty. Why not Matty? Because he's irrelevant? Why? Why is he irrelevant?
'Do you have their high school records or college records?'
More documents appeared on the screen; the display reformatted itself. 'What is it you're looking for?' Brownie asked.
'Some sense of who they were. A link. A connection. A common condition. I know that all their disappearances are linked to a specific gay teen club, but what if that isn't the real link? What if there's something else? What are their interests? Their skills? What are their IQ's?'
Brownie hesitated. Why would a computer hesitate? A human being would, but an artificial intelligence shouldn't. Unless it was sentient. Or pretending to be sentient. Or thought it was sentient. Or experiencing the illusion of sentience. Shit, now I was doing it. Brownie was mulling things over.
'They all have above-average intelligence,' he said. 'Genius level IQ starts at 131. Your IQ is 137, that's why you were selected. The other young men have IQs ranging from 111 to 143.'
'Thank you! And what else?'
'Two of them are bisexual, with slight preference toward same-sex relations. Five of them are predominantly homosexual with some heterosexual experimentation. Three of them are exclusively homosexual. Two of them are latently-transgender.'
'Go on?'
'They share a range of common interests that includes classical music, animation, computer science, science fiction, space travel, fantasy role-playing games, and minor related interests.'
'Tell me the rest.'
'Most of them tend to shyness or bookishness. They're alienated from their peers to some degree, not athletic, not actively engaged in their communities. I believe the operative terms are 'geek' and 'nerd,' but those words might not have been in common usage in your era.'
'Yeah, I get it. Depression? Suicide?'
'There are multiple dimensions of evaluation. It's not appropriate to simplify the data. It is fair to say that most of these young men have a component in their personality that others would experience as distance; but it is not a condition of mental instability or depression, no. It is something else.'
'How would you characterize it?'
'They each have, to some degree or other, an artistic yearning. But the tools don't exist in their time for the realization of their visions. They dream of things they cannot build.'
'All of these boys are like that?'
'To some degree or other, yes. This one - ' A bright outlined appeared around one of the pictures, '-he likes to write. This one, Brad Boyd, has a mechanical aptitude. He likes to tinker with engines. This one loves photography. This one is interested in electronics. They all have potential, they have a wide variety of skills that will grow with development and training.'
'Uh-huh -and what about their families?'
'Only three of them come from unbroken homes; those three are living alone or with a roommate at the time of their disappearance. Two are estranged from their parents. Two are living with male partners, but the relationships are in disruption. Two live in foster homes. One is in a halfway house for recovering addicts. One is in a commune. The last one is homeless.'
'And college -can they afford it?'
'Only three of them are attending full time, four are taking part-time classes. The rest are working full time to pay their living expenses.'
'Let's go back to the families. Are they-what's the word? Dysfunctional?'
'Only two of the subjects have strong family ties. Three of the subjects, both parents are deceased or out of state. Four of the subjects are from dysfunctional environments. The last three, the information is incomplete. But you already know all this. It was in the files you read.'
'But not correlated like this. This is all-what was that phrase that Eakins used before? Fuzzy logic? This is all fuzzy logic.'
'No. This isn't 'fuzzy logic' Not as we use the term today. But I understand what you're getting at. You had no way to quantify the information. You could have a feeling, a sense, a hunch, but you had no baseline against which to measure the data, because neither the information nor the information-processing capabilities existed in your time.'
'Nice. Thanks.' I thought for a moment. 'Have I missed anything? Is there anything else I need to know about these fellows?'
'There are some interesting details and sidebars, yes. But you have surveyed most of the essential data.' 'Thank you, Brownie.' I fell back onto the bed. The pillow arranged itself under my head. Spooky. I stared at the ceiling, thinking. Too excited now to fall asleep. The bed began to pulse, a gentle wave-like motion. Almost like riding in a womb. Nice. Seductive. I let myself relax-In the morning, the display showed crisp orange dunes, a brilliantly blue sky, and the first rays of light etching sideways across the empty sand. An interesting image to wake up to. I wondered who or what chose the images and on what basis.
My own clothes were not in the closet. I started to pick something off a rack, then stopped. 'Brownie? What should I wear?'
Several items slid forward immediately, offering themselves. I rejected the skirts, kilts, whatever they were. And the flowery shirts too. Picked out clothes that looked as close to normal -my normal -as I could find. The underwear-I rolled my eyes and prayed I wouldn't be hit by a truck. Very unlikely. I probably wasn't getting out of this apartment any time soon. Did they even have trucks anymore?
Neither the shirt nor the pants had buttons or zippers or any kind of fasteners that I could identify, they just sort of fastened themselves. Magnets or something. Except magnets don't automatically adjust themselves. I played with the shirt for a bit, opening and closing it, but I couldn't see evidence of any visible mechanism.
I walked over to the balcony and stared down at the streets. Looking for trucks? Didn't see any, or couldn't tell. Some things wouldn't even resolve. Either there was something wrong with the way they reflected light, or I just didn't know what I was seeing. And there were a lot of those 3-D illusions floating around too. Were some of them on moving vehicles? That didn't seem safe.
'If you're thinking about jumping, you can't. The balconies all have scramble-nets.'
'Thank you. Brownie. And no. I'm not thinking about jumping.'
'Mr. Eakins is waiting for you in the dining room. Breakfast is on the table.'
There was a counter with covered serving trays. I found scrambled eggs, sausages, toast, jelly, tomato juice, an assortment of fresh fruit, including several varieties I didn't recognize, and something that could have been ham - if ham was Day-Glo pink. Brownie filled a plate for me. I sat down opposite Eakins while Brownie poured juice and coffee.
