ART BÉBÉ 2099 - Pilot scenes 3

Art Bébé says, 'Fade in:'

DR. PETER SYBER 

His usual period of solitude and reflection. The BAAL Tower observation globe. The view from 112-stories. Dressed only in his loose-fitting, pale-blue coveralls, he begins the control chair on its slow rotation while manipulating the touch screen on the chair’s right arm. The observation globe’s window glass depolarizes to reveal the island below, the canals and waterways, the crisscross of bridges, the glittering whites and occasional color of the old and new towers, the gridded blue of the elevated ways and, rising up and over all this, the yellow affluent emanating from the city’s swampy ground, giving the whole aspect a look not unlike that of a badly mixed Plasticine. When the control chair’s turn finally settles to view over the GNYA, he stops the chair and touches in further commands, banding the long rays of the setting sun in chiaroscuro shades through the globe’s window glass, dancing dust motes in the air. Satisfied, he lies his forearms along the padded edges of the chair’s control arms, presses his frail legs together, and slowly allows the bulk of his bald head to sink into the soft back of the chair. As the head sinks deeper, the triangular-shaped med-drone behind the chair, floats over. Three tubes feed him, two to his right forearm, and the third to his skull. The skull tube increases its feed rate, and he begins to doze.

The tipping as a turning point in history. An age of reinvention and redefinition. From this not unexpected turn of events in the history of humanity, he has derived his own vision.

Whether one favored the weak anthropic principle or the strong, humanity has always observed the universe, cherry picking for its own right to exist, a type of Manifest Destiny made right by humanity itself, humanity as its own brand of determinism. And so the transcendent human. And here he has placed himself in a long line of dreamers in exploration of this very possibility.

Seventeen years of research and development in neurobionics and at last the breakthrough in the coating compound that has seen the free-swimming, largely autonomous, artificial neurons (ANs) freed of the always troubling auto immune response, the biggest stumbling block, enabling the ANs and their fibers to freely synapse and connect with their biological counterparts, forming the enhanced neural loom (ENL). Having conceived this concept as biologically assisted artificial life (BAAL), he has patented the technology, refusing all offers of licensing, and named his corporation after the concept.

And now she is growing up.

‘Yellow alert, Dr Syber, skycar approaching.' Marlene, the tower AI's, silky, pitch perfect, feminine voice sounds over the globe.

He opens his eyes, startled awake, and immediately struggles erect, taking a firm grip of the chair arms. The sun’s banded rays have petered out, leaving the room with only the weak bluish light of the ceiling cells.

‘How do you wish to respond, Peter?’ Marlene sounds over the room again.

He begins to climb from the chair, saying. ‘Keep on yellow, Marlene,’ and easing himself onto one club foot, grunts, ‘Damn fools,’ and is forced to wait before moving off. The club foot has gone to sleep, as is often the case when he sits carelessly. Once the blood has returned, he makes his slow way to the curve of the window, dragging the deformed foot behind him. The med-drone follows.

A dark speck shows in the distance against the flaring night cloud. The speck quickly grows, and suddenly the skycar hovers directly before him. It is of a nondescript make, unmarked, and each of its window darkly tinted, giving no hint of the occupants. As expected, he thinks.

His corporate rivals aren’t happy. Much of his work is secret, and worse for his competitors, is his continuing success with whatever product line he might choose to fashion next. It left little doubt, as with all the previous flybys, this is one of his competitors, perhaps wanting to practice a little intimidation, or perhaps hoping that some of his secrets might be gleaned from the very stone of the BAAK Tower itself. He wonders if anything might be gained if he was to reverse the polarity of the window glass and wave. But then they would see his true form. They would have confirmation of what they had already begun to suspect, that the reclusive and enigmatic head of BAAL Industries was indeed a freak. 

The machine continues to hover. Then suddenly, it is heavily buffeted. It tries to correct, but the buffeting begins again. Then suddenly the nose of the car dips, a burst of flame shoots from the central exhaust, and it is gone, lost to the flaring night sky.

‘What, leaving so soon, he grunts,’ then shouts, ‘Marlene, what’s going on?’

‘Just a moment, Peter. I’m receiving details … I have an analysis now. A category 3 pollutant is building over the North Atlantic. The GNYA will be directly impacted.’

‘Just a moment, Peter. I’m receiving details … I have an analysis now. A category 3 pollutant is building over the North Atlantic. The GNYA will be directly impacted.’

A powerful flare of yellow light flares against the globe’s thick glass, lighting the large pustules that have come to mar one side of his face. The large pupil of his bionic eye shrinks to a pinpoint. He turns from the window, beginning his slow return to the chair. ‘Expected landfall?’ he frowns.

‘At zero-three-hundred, Peter. I advise safety measures.’

At the chair, he heaves himself within, and immediately slumps back. ‘Draw down the shielding, Marlene,’ he begins tiredly. ‘Activate screen. Load Project 13.’

Art Bébé says, 'Fade out.'




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