The Program

Two hours and 47 minutes.

The clock said it was only that long. I saw daylight, thunderstorms, nightfall, day again. I felt the sun on my skin. I tasted the raindrops and waited for the thunder to roll over me. The pack of cigarettes in my shirt pocket was empty.

I went out at 6:14 to sit on the porch and watch the cars fly by, dust encrusted on the windshields. Pollen-coated adventurers traveling west to…what was west? According to the news, soldiers guarding the city gates, citizens rising against soldiers. Were the drivers stopping early at a 5-star resort or a little bistro? Or were they rushing to storm the gates like the other rioters I’d seen on the news?

According to the clock, I sat outside an hour. As the sky darkened, George and Lo came to gather in my basement, scared of the storms that would wash the dust away. Scared of the wind, scared of death, who knows. For some reason, their house didn’t have a basement. They sat in mine playing cards, flashlights by their sides, radio on. They were there for hours. It had to be hours.

And when it was night, the sky was clearer than I’d ever noticed. The city lights weren’t hiding the universe. No city lights but no fires either. No riots. George came up with the radio, saying the city had lost power, not control. Newsman said not to worry.

I went inside and poured coffee from early-morning brew. It was then I looked at the clock, saw it moved 47 minutes from when I first stepped outside. It was electric, a neon green clock I’d found at a yard sale for a buck. It counted down to seconds, making sure I always knew how much time I wasted. I went back out and fell asleep on the porch swing, smelling the rain-cleansed air, covered in a ratty blanket Lo knit years ago. Her first project, a mix of purples and greys.

I woke to George and Lo sitting quietly in the living room, sun streaming through the windows. The clock moved another hour while I slept, but it felt like I’d slept more. 9:01:55. It felt right, maybe. I wasn’t sure. George turned the radio on, swore in his mother tongue, turned it off.

“The power outage isn’t fixed,” he said. “And the power’s out here.”

“That’s impossible.” I gestured to the clock. “The clock is working.” But even as I said it, I knew something was off. The seconds ticked along but nothing else seemed to change. I shook the strange feeling off. “The clock must be broken. Piece of junk yard-sale clock.” I unplugged it and sat down at the kitchen counter.

“No coffee,” George said. “No water.” He held up his phone. “It’s been plugged in since midnight. It’s only 3% more charged.”

“This isn’t how it works.” Lo shook her head. “Everything should be off or on."

“That’s not how it used to work,” George grumbled. He’d been a soldier for the city before he retired to the prairieland. His life was protecting the city from hackers, who rarely wanted to merely shut off some lights and throw a scare into people.

“Hackers couldn’t do this,” Lo insisted.

George nodded. “I know.” He leaned back in a white wooden chair. He had to keep his secrets, but what kind of secrets could he have? It was a routine power outage. I told him so, that it happens all the time, that there are generators and plans, and even then, sometimes it can take hours for things to get fixed out here. While I explained the incident away, he reached back for the radio knob.

“…program began five years ago and is not thought to be responsible for the outages. Mayor S…” George cursed again. “…reassures all residents that while there is no estimated restoration time, all services will be running smoothly soon…”

The “program” was an AI tool that oversaw consumption of resources. It automated our utilities, our billing, and it could even limit over-consumption. In dry spells, it rationed water. In snowy weather, it activated geothermal heat pumps to keep the roads clear. It kept our clocks on satellite time, detected sewage clogs, found potential problem areas in pipes. It did the work of 800 city people, Mayor had proudly said.

Journalists prodded him about job loss. “Nobody will lose their jobs or be laid off, not even for an hour,” Mayor exclaimed, grinning into the camera. “Every city employee now has the opportunity for a job with better pay and benefits, not to mention paid training and meal vouchers. We value our hardworking residents and will ensure their transition to their new roles goes as smoothly as possible.” They became soldiers, fattened up and sent out to slaughter.

It caused a little backlash for a while, but soldiers were needed, and the program worked so advantageously. And the employees had a “choice.” There were other job offerings, Mayor said, “but all our residents are patriots. All of them opted to continue serving our fine city.” I didn’t believe it, not by the way George pressed his lips in a subtle frown when anyone mentioned them. But then again, it would’ve been hard for anyone to turn down the salary the mayor offered.

There were a few snags in the beginning, a few more power outages than before. Generally, though, it was touted as a success to competing cities and to the rioters. We’d mastered technology to our advantage.

Yet sitting in my kitchen that day, I saw something in George’s eyes I’d never seen before: fear. I noted that it was not surprise, almost like he’d spent these 5 years imagining something like this.

“George,” Lo said quietly. Her gentle voice brought him to the present. He nodded definitively.

“There were scandals when this program was released, worries about bugs, worries about what would happen if one day it turned against us.”

“What can it…do?” I asked.

“To us, out here, toy with our power. In the city, toy with their fear.” He looked at Lo and I, and said in the most matter-of-fact way, “They’ll break down the city now. The soldiers aren’t prepared for this outcome.”

“What outcome? What fear? Of not being able to take a hot shower?” I couldn’t imagine war breaking out over this. “Can’t the techs regain control?”

“No,” George said. “This mayor has the city convinced his program is the only way to lead civilized life. He has them convinced that it’s invincible. What are they going to do when they realize they’ve been lied to?”

“We all knew he was a weasel.”

“More than that. Don’t you know he patented it? You realize how much money he’s sitting on right now?” George stood and looked out the window. “His enemies have been waiting for an opportunity like this. Once it becomes clear that this can’t be fixed, it’s over. He can only feign confidence for so long. There's no solution."

“George, why don’t they just turn it off?” I was exasperated at the dramatics. “Delete the AI, do it like we did before. This isn’t a war-worthy situation.”

“There is no turning it off. There is no deleting it!” He turned around to face me. “Don’t you get it? It won't allow us to turn it off! It’s entrenched in everything we do. We won’t have clean water. We can’t cook. We can’t work. It isn’t just some computer program. It has its own personality, its own humor, and let me tell you, it’s sick. You know how easy it is to contaminate our water and turn it back on long enough to kill us? How many doors it can lock, how many fires it can start, how many people it can kill in an instant?”

“Are we in danger?” Lo asked.

“Not yet, but we need to leave. We can’t be here when the chaos spreads out here.”

“And go where? Three-quarters of the towns here use Mayor’s program.”

“I know a place. Jake, pack your things. Don’t pack a single thing that’s electric. Don’t even pack your phone. The program could have already altered it. Lo, our bags are in the car. We’ll be waiting.” They started outside when George turned around. “I mean it. Don’t pack anything that could’ve been corrupted.”

I stood in shock as the screen door shut behind George. I silently picked up my clock and plugged it in. 9:01:55.