FSE

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Chapter one

She fumbled with the door to the professor's office; the handle was far too slim, far too curved for her paws to grasp at easily. In her nervousness her hand slipped and she accidentally punched the door, creating a loud shock and echoing a yelp of pain. Immediately, she could feel all the pairs of eyes on her.

The collie turned and saw everyone peeking over their cubicles, giving incredulous and contemptible glances. Then one of them started laughing, a chubby pasty man, as he rose out of his cubicle to get his friend's attention. The friend then snickered, saying, “What the hell is that doing here? Is it retarded or somethin'?"

“Hey," she heard another deep voice say to her right, and she turned to face it. “Are you lost? Where's your owner?"

“I…" she said feebly, but she quickly found her voice was failing her. “I don't have one. I need to see the professor. I'm here for the Advanced LIGO program." She spoke in a Russian-like accent, a product of her artificially-enhanced vocal cords designed to allow her to speak in human tongue.

The man- whose desk read Scott Kean- exchanged glances with one of his co-workers. “As what, a company mascot?" Raucous laughter erupted in the office. “You know, on the upper floors we have a museum, for the kids, y'know. I'm sure they'll love to see a talking dog ramble on about Galileo's telescope and Halley's Comet. How's that sound, Fido?"

She growled slightly, imperceptibly to the human ear, saying nothing. She imagined what his flesh would taste like as she ripped his throa- no. The memories of the training came back to her. Supress your instincts. The growl in her throat gradually dissipated.

All the laughing stopped when the door behind her opened and the professor stepped through. Her sensitive ears detected the repetitive typing of keyboards resuming, everyone scurrying back into their seats to pretend like nothing had transpired. It reminded her of cockroaches sprinting back into their dens when they were caught, and internally she found that to be a little sad. She turned around to face him.

He towered above her. She was a rather diminutive figure, standing at only a metre and a half, but he was at least half a metre above her, and he was very lanky; she wondered if he suffered from gigantism, perhaps. He briefly glanced at her, slightly confusedly, but soon looked past her, however, intent on something else. “You morons think I can't hear you? I'm on a phone call for, what, three minutes, and already it sounds like we have a fuckin' zoo down here. The reason I work down here is to get away from the children's museum, understand?" Then he looked down again.

“Hello?" he offered, extending a hand as his business instincts told him to. “I'm Professor Weir. Can I help you with something?" She accepted his handshake, although the grip was awkward considering her tetradactyl hands. And then, looking into her eyes, he had a flash of remembrance. “Are you here for the interview?"

“Yes, sir," she said plainly. He furled his eyebrows and made somewhat of a grimace, looking thoughtfully into the wall of cubicles behind her.

“Why don't you come to my office." She did as requested, but she could still feel all the eyes on her. With her ears pinned and her tail wedged between her legs, she walked dejectedly into the office, and he shut the door behind her. As she sat in one of the two fancy chairs facing his desk, curling her long tail uncomfortably into her lap, she could hear the people whispering on the other side of the wall. Sometimes she wished her hearing wasn't so astute.

The professor leaned back in his office chair, grimacing and rubbing his temples slightly. “Forgive me," he said, “I get these migraines sometimes and, well, the children in the cubicles don't exactly help with my cheerful disposition." The sarcasm in his voice was acrid, and the collie chose not to say anything.

“But," he continued, “That's a topic for another day. You know, when you called for the interview, I didn't picture you as an Augment. Everyone out there seems to think you've lost your way, that you're a joke."

“Well, sir," she offered, “Everyone's entitled to their own opinion."

“Are you?"

“Pardon me? Did you mean to ask if I'm a joke, or if I'm entitled to my own opinion?"

He shrugged. “Eh. Both, I suppose."

She felt confused, bewildered by the question. “Respectfully, I'm not a joke. And, well. I'm not a citizen, if that answers your second question."

He raised an eyebrow. “Augments aren't citizens?"

“No. The thirty-second amendment only grants Augments freedom should they pass rigorous examination. It does not grant citizenship or immunity from discrimination. I have no right to vote and cannot hold government-sponsored positions, though I am also not eligible for the draft."

“Hmm." He glanced at the computer monitor and held up his hands. Presently a blue holographic keyboard appeared above his lap, and he began 'typing' at a leisurely pace. “Catherine Alexeyevna- Jesus, that's a name. Guess it explains the Russian accent." She nodded.

“Respectfully, sir, my technical name is CAT-2086-12859-B6, but I usually just went by Catherine. 'Alexeyevna' was the first Empress of Russia; I didn't pick the name. Sony did."

“Hmm," he grunted with a hint of interest and intrigue. “Master's degree in theoretical physics, graduated from Washington University, age." He stopped, and his face was replete with incredulity. “Sixteen years?"

“Yes, Professor Weir. I age faster than humans, and with the high test scores the degree came quickly." She bit her tongue and her toes were jammed into the soles of her shoes from the nervousness. Interactions with people, especially well-educated ones, were essentially non-existent. Her long tail twitched, and she stuffed it under her legs to avoid revealing any more body language than what she already was. If she had had any sweat glands, she would have been drenched in the stuff, but thankfully that was one anatomical feature her designers overlooked.

“What were you made for?"

Her ears drooped in response to hearing the question. She didn't like to reason that she was created for a specific purpose, to accomplish a task, but it was the truth. “Statistical analysis and code breaker, purchased by Sony to analyse market data and ensure computer security."

“Statistical analysis, huh? Guess they made you good at math. Is that why you signed up here?" She nodded. “Well, you seem to be a- pardon my language- damn fine candidate, Ms. Alexeyevna. But I have a problem."

Her ears drooped further. “Sir?" she asked quietly.

“You know what year it is, Catherine?"

“2102, professor."

“Exactly. And you know what that means?" She shook her head. “Well, it means everyone is at each other's god damn throats. People love to hate each other, so you see, and tensions are high right now. Just look at the news." He pointed to a monitor on the side wall and flicked his fingers, activating it. A woman appeared in the camera frame, dressed in a trench coat in an urban environment, with snow falling at a slow pace all around her. Explosions were happening in the background and faint screaming could be heard over the muffled sound of distant gunfire and the hisses of lasers. Several buildings were aflame, crumbling under the heat of napalm and laser weaponry. Piercing blue flashes of laser light were visible in the clouds of smoke in the background.

“Here we see the People's Republic of China soldiers engaging troops from the Free State of Hong Kong. This is only one of several recent campaigns against the Free State, what Chinese Prime Minister Zhao has called…" Then the news went to a press conference in a stale-looking room, traditional Chinese architecture visible on the walls. An older Chinese woman was in the centre of the focus, camera flashes occasionally glinting off of her face and dark suit.

“…a Free State of American imperialism and seditious anarchy. We will not relent against Hong Kong for it is a blue state, corrupted by American influence. To relent would only ease the trigger fingers of the United States, whose nuclear treaties are as self-serving as they are self-destructive to the human race."

Then the camera showed footage of a Chinese parade broadcasted from Beijing. Trucks armed to the teeth with nuclear missile launchers and free electron lasers were slowly making their way down the streets amongst the Chinese national anthem playing on the loudspeakers. As the Chinese Air Force flew overhead on the news, leaving red and yellow trails of smoke, the camera feed turned back to the woman in the trench coat. “As you can see, the debate over the recent United States international nuclear treaty has been extremely controversial, and one has to wonder if-“

Professor Weir flicked his fingers again and the screen deactivated. “So you see?" he asked. “Everyone. Everyone wants to rip each other to shreds. People are so afraid of the future- of resource depletion, of overpopulation, of global warming- that they've taken comfort in hurting each other. The world is back on the brink, just as it was during the last half of the twentieth."

“Well," Catherine said, “I would call it human nature, but from an external perspective I believe that may be biased."

Weir chucked slightly. “Quite the scientist we have here, concerned with bias and contamination. I might have also detected just a little humour there, as well, Ms. Alexeyeva." She smiled nervously; it came out like more of a toothy grin due to her muzzle.

“All jokes aside, however," he added, “considering how… afraid people are- of the Chinese, of Augments, even of themselves- you might have a difficult time here. But you're the only person I've ever seen get a perfect score on the qualification exam. And you also have an extremely honed ability to find patterns in even the soupiest data streams, so I don't want to give you up. And, personally, I don't care that you're not human. Sure, I feel like introducing a nonhuman into the environment rocks the socio-political boat more than it should, but I'm judging you strictly on a performance basis. This is a classic 'blue pill or red pill' scenario, but I'm not going to pick it for you."

Catherine brought a hand up to her muzzle, pondering the scenario. Did she really have any opportunity other than this? Nothing prevented her from leaving, true, but simultaneously nothing protected her. Here she was, being interviewed by one of the prior generation's most beloved physicists, and, according to him, he wasn't bothered by her species. This wasn't the highest paying job available, but it was, in all likelihood, her best shot. She wasn't going to get this kind of treatment again, and she knew it.

“Thank you, professor," she said happily. “I think I'll take the red pill." She grinned nervously, trying to appeal to the human sense of humour. She didn't always understand it, and she most certainly didn't always find it entertaining, but this time it seemed apropos.

“Sounds good, Ms. Alexeyevna," he responded pleasantly, though he still had a slight grimace and began rubbing his temples again. He opened his desk and produced a glass of water, which he sipped for a few minutes. Perking her ears towards the door, she detected a muffled, “Aw, shit, man," of someone in the office, likely eavesdropping on them and disappointed at the results. That piqued her curiosity.

“Professor?" she asked. “You said that everyone is afraid of the future, and that drives people to hurt each other. What did you mean by that?"

He put down his water and retracted the holographic keyboard. “Are you familiar with the concept of fate, Catherine?"

“Yes. Events that are destined to occur, irrespective of anyone's will or actions."

“Good. Well, fate has a very powerful effect on people's psyche. If they believe that something is destined to occur, no matter what they do, then their sense of responsibility dissolves. To them, they believe in a 'block world' where the future is already set in stone and is impossible to change, so what's the point of using responsibility? Fate is a very powerful concept, as you can imagine."

“As I understand," she said, “doesn't relativity require a block universe, since every reference frame is equally valid?"

He smiled. “Very clever. But do you know what type of theories special and general relativity are?"

“Classical theories?" she said with a nod.

“Bingo. And all classical theories are deterministic, right?" She nodded. “Many people, scientists, even pretentious amateurs who want to call themselves 'scientists'- they subscribe to that world view. The world view that says, 'All of time is simultaneous, so everything has been destined to happen since the Big Bang.' But I'll let you in on a little secret: It's not true."

“How so?"

“The uncertainty principle, that's how. Einstein's deterministic 'hidden variable' view of reality has been proven incorrect experimentally. Like it or not, reality is indeterministic; the past, present and future are all uncertain. So even though they might be simultaneous, they are all simultaneously uncertain. Fate, so you see, once brought into the realm of quantum mechanics, simply breaks down. People do have the power to change their lives. This supposedly inevitable Resource War we're embedded in, between us and the Reds, with billions of lives at risk at the push of the big red button or mass starvation- it's preventable. Everyone just has to put their mind to it, and we'll find a solution. We always have."

She had studied quantum mechanics in high detail, obviously, but had never thought of it like that. “That is an interesting philosophy, professor."

“Indeed it is," he smiled, extending a hand. "Welcome to the LIGO team."