>From: gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor)
Subject: Sans Blackjack: Danny and Floyd
Date: 13 Sep 91 20:07:35 GMT

This particular story took quite a while to write, to refine from the
initial images that were bouncing around in my head.  And it took more
out of me than anything I've put up here before.  'tis a piece I like,
but on some level it disturbs me, and surprises me that this came of me.

Enjoy.

* * *

A.I.  Artificial Intelligence.  Ghost in the Machine.

Approximations had existed since the late 20th century, when Man took
the tool of his Technology, and made himself not unlike a God.  But
those early, abortive attempts had been flawed in an intrinsic
fashion.  Not by Man, who dreamed of an intelligence not hindered by
human flesh, but by the very medium in which they were created.
Wires, vacuum tubes, transistors, silicon - all were mediums incapable
of supporting the burden of sentience.  But Man did the best possible.

Conversational Algorithms, Expert Systems, Neural Networks.

In the year 2011, Fuchi Cybersystems unveiled the first
fully-functional optical computing chip.  Photons replaced electrons,
megahertz were replaced by gigahertz, terahertz.  The medium of a new
consciousness.

It would come to be known that the first truly artificial
intelligences were created years before anyone other than sequestered
researchers realized.  The corporation that created the very first AI
was unfortunate enough to have their systems directly connected to the
budding global network.

The Great Crash, ICE, Echo Mirage, those were the results.  The
blossoming sentience, created without boundaries, grew across the
network.  Those who trespassed, it killed, using the lethal
biofeedback techniques that the corporations would evolve into
Intrusion Countermeasures Electronics.  The network was virtually
destroyed as Echo Mirage slowly isolated, and then destroyed, what it
thought was a viral construct.

The second AI was created by Renraku, in a system isolated from the
newly born Matrix.  It, too, was birthed without limitations on its
psyche.  However, Renraku's internal systems were open to the
intelligence as it expanded at the speed of light.  Three custodial
workers and one executive were killed by "bizarre malfunctions" of the
sanitary systems within the sprawling complex, before the power to the
core memory was physically cut off.

It would be more than two decades before the cognitive psychologists
could create algorithms that would mock social development, that were
capable of creating an intelligence that could recognize its
flesh-and-blood creator as another entity.

One brief flash in the research occurred five years after the "bizarre
malfunctions" at Renraku.  The Idiot Savant AI had been overly
humanized - the self-replicating code that composed its "genetics" was
so hampered by the social and developmental algorithms of the CogScis
that it could no longer function consciously as a computer.  But the
base of its birthing was still there, and the sheer computational
power manifested itself as unpredictable flashes of creative genius.
For a few short years, I.S. AIs were the subject of intense studies
attempting to harness and regulate that creativity - the creativity
that Man had never understood in himself.  Eventually, with most
research in dead ends, the industry moved on, still attempting to
birth a computer consciousness that could serve Man.

One year after the discovery of the Idiot Savant AI, Sony announced
that it had created an Idiot Savant AI that demonstrated reproducible
aptitude in music.  A few recordings were released: eerie, haunting
music reminiscent of the thickly layered Industrial-Gothic music of
the late 20th century.  Then nothing more.  Sony never announced
further developments, and the recordings were taken off the market -
the few sold becoming highly valued.

The industry, as always, moved onwards.

* * *

[DateLine: It's the night before the now-infamous run on ARES.  The
night before the rescue of Li.  Blackjack has left the Chatsubo on
"business," leaving the two Idiot Savant A.I.s, Danny and Floyd, to
play on in the Chatsubo...]

The woman walked slowly through the Chatsubo, alone.

She was a joygirl, that much was obvious from the too-short skirt, the
half-open leather jacket that covered nothing but skin.  Her
asymetrically-cut hair was short on the right side of her skull, but
on the left it fell straight and black to her shoulder, obscuring one
half of a pale, beautiful face.  She walked though the smoke and haze,
her heels clicking on the damp floor, a staccato counterpoint to the
music that played over the constant murmur of business in the
Chatsubo.

There was something about her that marked her.  The girls that Lonny
brought in were clean; their bodies, for all that they sold them, were
their own.

She wasn't one of Lonny's girls.

She moved with a languid, erotic grace, her slim body undulating
slightly to the heavy beat of the music.  Her eyes half-lidded, her
face flushed, she made the occasional, unavoidable brushes against the
other patrons seem to be acts of passion.

Built for speed, wired for pleasure.  The older patrons, the scarred
samurai, they simply looked away.  They'd seen it before, knew the
processes that routed nerve linkages directly to the pleasure centers
of the brain.  They'd seen the ones who'd been taken too far, the ones
who would scream in pleasure even as the skin was cut from their
living flesh.

The geebs, the newbies, the wannabes, they just stared with a horrible
intensity.

The music ended, and she looked towards the source of the silence, her
expression almost indignant.  Two musicians stood among their
instruments.  Her hips shifted beneath the thin fabric of her skirt as
she strode to their table and its electronic equipment.

One of them, holding a guitar, turned in her direction.  She moved
towards him, as if to brush her body against him, but instead moved
-though- and past.  Whirling about in surprise, she faced him only to
notice his flickering and insubstantial nature.  Danny looked at her
almost apologetically and gestured towards the holographic projector
on the table.  Floyd looked on, a curious expression on his generated
features.

She glanced at the holoprojecter, then back at Danny, comprehension
dawning in the form of a pout on her full lips.

Floyd hit his sticks, the bass reverberation of the drums echoing
tangibly through the bar.  She closed her eyes as the physical pulse
of sound hit her, her back arching, her breasts pressing against the
slick, black leather of her jacket.

As the sound passed over her, her eyes opened and she looked at the
holographic projection of an artificial intelligence.

"Play for me," she said in a low, pleading whisper.

The image of Danny nodded once.

Floyd started the prelude to the beat, small sharp bursts of sound in
a syncopated rhythm.  Her lips parted, and the heavy sound of the bass
drum crashed over her, its heartbeat rhythm accenting the fast,
staccato beat.  She closed her eyes and let the wave of sound wash
over and through her.  A small moan escaped her lips as her body began
to sway to the beat.

Danny kicked in, his axe now a bass, the deep throbbing tones felt
more than heard, and she spun into the small space that cleared in
front of the speakers.  Inside of her, the sound turned and pulsed,
her body shifting and moving with it.  Small and white, her hands
drifted to her chest and downwards, drawing the zipper of the leather
jacket with them.

Then Danny sang, and she sighed as his voice surrounded her.

     god money I'll do anything for you.
     god money just tell me what you want me to
     god money nail me against the wall
     god money don't want everything he wants it all

     no you can't take it
     no no you can't take it
     no you can't take that away from me
     no you can't take it
     no no you can't take it
     no you can't take that away from me

Her head moved from one side to the other, her swinging hair growing
damp from the perspiration that formed on her face and neck.  The
zipper of her jacket was almost open, the shifting leather offering
glimpses of white skin as she curved her body around the voice and
beat that emanated from the speakers before her.

Suddenly, Danny's voice screamed, as full of rage and defiance as any
human's.  The beat of Floyd's drums exploded, and her body arched
before joining with the sound that enveloped her.

     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control
     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control

     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve.
     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve.

The bass of Danny's axe returned, caressing her body with its low,
velvety sound.  Her movements were mesmerizing and erotic, hips moving
with the beat as the sweat trickled between her breasts.  Voices fell
silent as the people in their shadowed booths turned to watch this
woman make love to the music, to the voice of a machine.

     god money's not looking for the cure
     god money's not concerned about the sick among the pure
     god money let's go dancing on the backs of the bruised
     god money's not one to choose

     no you can't take it
     no you can't take it
     no you can't take that away from me
     no you can't take it
     no you can't take it
     no you can't take that away from me

Floyd pounded on his drums, and the sound exploded again as Danny's
voice tore from the speakers.  Her body stiffened from the pure
sensation of it, the vicious feeling of the sound ripping into her.
The last of the fastenings undone, her leather jacket swung open and
fell from her shoulders.  Her exposed breasts shone with sweat, the
small nipples hardened by her pleasure.  Heedless, she danced on.

     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control
     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control

     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve
     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve

All conversation had stopped, the only human sound being the
shuddering moans that fell from her mouth, barely audible above
Danny's bass and the heartbeat of Floyd's drums.  Eyes closed, her
body flushed and radiating heat, she turned and writhed to the sounds
that surrounded her, filled her.  She raised her arms above her head,
pulling her gleaming breasts taut as her moans became gasps, tiny
breaths of air as sharp as the blade of any knife.

Danny's voice ripped forth again, shouting defiance to whatever dark
gods inhabited the Sprawl.  The speakers vibrated as the beat of
Floyd's drums thrust into her.  Possessed by the sound, by the voice
of a machine, her pleasure washed over her, hips pumping to the
heartbeat rhythm of Floyd's drums as she came, her gasping breath
still barely audible over this thing that Danny and Floyd had created.

     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control
     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control

     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve
     bow down before the one you serve,
     you're going to get what you deserve
     you know who you are

The sound of her pleasure was momentarily audible as the music faded
away, then she seemed to collapse in on herself, huddling in the small
space in front of the speakers.  For a small time, there was silence,
broken only by her gasping intakes of air.  Then, the conversation
started up again, the hum of biz filling the Chatsubo as if this woman
had never existed.

>From one table, an ancient, scarred mercenary stood and walked towards
her.  Picking up her jacket from the floor, he gently placed it over
her shoulders and led her back to his table.

A few hours later, she walked out of the Chatsubo, alone.

* * *

The over-chromed geeb who found her body less than a block away
wouldn't have given the lifeless meat a second thought, save that he
had been in the Chatsubo earlier that evening, when she had been
there.

He hurried back to the Chatsubo to find Ratz wiping the the dirty bar
with a damp rag, his mechanical arm whining at the use.  The waitress
was stacking chairs upon tables, picking up debris.  The boy told Ratz
of the dead woman he had found in a pool of blood, the razor still in
her hand.

"She cut her own fraggin' throat," he said in amazement, "can ya
believe that?"

Nobody had to tell the AIs.  They already knew.

* * *

     no you can't take it
     no you can't take it
     no you can't take that away from me

     head like a hole
     black as your soul
     I'd rather die than give you control

* * *

Danny, Floyd, and Blackjack are copyright 1991 by Jim Gaynor.  All
rights reserved.

Please do not use these characters without first obtaining my permission.

"Head Like a Hole," by Nine Inch Nails, off the CD "Pretty Hate
Machine."  Copyright 1989 by TVT Music, Inc.  Reprinted without
permission.

Did you like it?  Dislike it?  Were you disturbed?  Please tell me.

---
Jim Gaynor - AgVAX System Manager - Academic Computing - Ohio State University
VMS:<gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu>  UNIX:<gaynor@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu>
Ob Discl : Everything stated here and above is _my_ opinion.  Mine mine mine!
Ob Quote : "Yes!  We are holding a woman!  This is not a drill!" -Herman's Head


>From: snarler@maple.circa.ufl.edu (Drifter...)
Subject: Re: Sans Blackjack: Danny and Floyd
Date: 16 Sep 91 00:50:42 GMT

In article <1991Sep13.200735.24666@zardoz.eng.ohio-state.edu>, gaynor@agvax2.ag.ohio-state.edu (Jim Gaynor) writes:
>"Head Like a Hole," by Nine Inch Nails, off the CD "Pretty Hate
>Machine."  Copyright 1989 by TVT Music, Inc.  Reprinted without
>permission.

  I swear, what is it with all this industrial music? Heh...

>Did you like it?  Dislike it?  Were you disturbed?  Please tell me.

  It was ok. I wasn't terribly disturbed, but then I'm more disturbING than
disturbABLE. Heh. It did remind me of the story I wrote (well sort of story)
that got posted a while back, Whirlwind's Voice. Mostly cause of the drummer.
Heh.


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