"Gilman,.Laura.Anne.-.Clean.Up.Your.Room" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilman Laura Anne)
Clean Up Your Room!
by Laura Anne Gilman
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Copyright (c)1996 by Laura Anne Gilman
First published in Don't Forget Your Spacesuit, Dear, July 1996
Fictionwise
www.Fictionwise.com
Science Fiction
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starlight starbright first star i see tonight
i wish i may i wish i might
_give back the wish i got last night!_
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* * * *
"Rise-and-shine, Jessy!"
The window snapped open and a cool breeze nipped her bare skin where the blanket didn't cover.
That was more than enough. "House, close bedroom window," she commanded sleepily.
"Nonsense. Some fresh air is just the thing in the morning." Wha? House never spoke back. Even with her custom-programmed job, the safeties built in didn't allow for any kind of resistance that would annoy consumers. What could have gone wrong? Think, Jessy, she told herself, frowning. She'd gone to bed early this morning after loading the new Maternal Uplink, and ... that was it! Her baby was up and running!
With a whoop, Jessy swung out of bed. Leaning over, she accessed the keyboard, which was lying where she had flung it the night before. Bare feet swinging inches off the hardwood floor, she was oblivious to the fact that the window was still open, cold air making goosebumps along her exposed skin. A small receptor set into the plaster wall tracked slightly, taking in Jessy's lack of clothing, and the window began to slide slowly shut.
"Jessy, put that away and come eat breakfast. You won't get anything useful done on an empty stomach." The voice was the usual gender-neutral computer-generated drone, and yet it sounded different to her this morning. Obviously, the tone modifiers Gregory had suggested were working, too. That was going to be a selling point for everyone yelping about the dehumanization of home life. In a few generations, they'd be able to personalize the voice, maybe even to customer order.
"Jessy..."
Grinning broadly, Jessy shook her head. "Not now, MUM." M.U.M. -- short for Maternal Uplink and Monitor. Three years on the planning board, a year ahead of schedule in execution, and the money was just going to roll on in for all of them once this hit the market! "Not that I'm in it for the money," Jessy reminded herself, typing furiously.
"I'm making blueberry muffins" the electronic voice wheedled. Jessy paused, then gave in. If MUM had interfaced with the kitchen software already, she wasn't going to complain. The stuff that came with the software was standard cookbook healthy -- good for the body, but hell on the tastebuds.
"And Jessy," MUM continued as the woman struggled into a t-shirt, "could you pick up your room a little? It looks like it hasn't seen a vacuum in months."
With a groan, Jessy waved a hand at the photoreceptor over the door. "Please, MUM, not now." She hadn't made her bed in eighteen years -- not since her mother died, and her dad gave up on teaching then-twelve-year-old Jessy any of the household graces. There was no way was she going to start on the neatness-next-to-godliness kick now, just because a program said she should. It wasn't as though she left food lying around, after all. "We're going to have to do something about that comment," Jessy muttered to herself. "Make nagging an option package, maybe?" She ran her fingers through the close crop of blonde hair she was trying this month and shook her head. That would be the headache of the folks in sales. She was just the resident genius. Nobody expected her to do anything practical like make decisions. Throwing a sweatshirt on over her tee and grabbing a pair of ratty sweatpants from off the floor, Jessy thumped down the stairs, following the smell of fresh-baked muffins.
Once awakened and fed, it seemed simpler to Jessy to just begin her day a few hours earlier than normal, rather than drawing the shades and trying for some more sleep. The odd hours wouldn't kill her -- probably.
She was at her desk, basking in the sunshine coming through the skylight while she worked, when she smelled something coming from the kitchen. Jessy refused to wear a watch, and didn't keep anything remotely resembling normal dining hours, but she didn't think it was anywhere near two, which is when the kitchen was programmed to heat her some soup.
"MUM? Cease kitchen program. I'm not hungry."
Sure enough, the smells died away. Grinning, Jessy jotted a note on her screen. She didn't mind letting a program have initiative within parameters, but other users might not be so easy-going. "Gotta corral that, somehow..." Moments later her attention had narrowed to the project at hand, hazel eyes staring at the symbols glowing on her screen. With the concentration that had made her legendary in college kicking in, the rest of the world might not have existed for her. So it was some time before Jessy noticed that the smell of soup was back.
"MUM!" Jessy bellowed after checking the computer's clock to ensure that it was, indeed, nowhere near 2pm. "Cease kitchen program."
"Nonsense," the House speaker chirped. "It's 12:30, and you've been sitting in that position for hours. It can't be healthy. Put everything away and come have lunch. You're not going to get your best work done if you don't put something in your stomach."
Jessy was about to repeat her order when the smell of beef soup bypassed her nose and went directly to her stomach. The rumble that resulted convinced her that, for now, MUM was right. Slotting the keyboard into its shelf, she pushed back her chair and went into the kitchen, where a bowl of soup was waiting in the nuker.
Modern technology had years ago managed to automate everything except the actual setting of the table. Computers had never been able to manage 'tronic arm movements without breaking at least one piece, and so finally the engineers gave up -- for now. Setting the table oneself was, most found, a small price for not having to cook or clean. TIME Magazine said that 'fridge-to-food software saved two out of every three marriage. Jessy still had that article clipped to the side of her workboard. When she was feeling particularly glum over one project or another, she'd re-read it, and feel that there were positive aspects to her work, after all.
Jessy settled herself at the table, stuffing soup and fresh-baked bread into her mouth while jotting notes onto her ever-present slate. She would admit, when pressed, that her table manners weren't all they could be, but the work-in-progress had always taken precedence. Her father had been the same way, and she had many fond memories of the two of them sitting across from each other at the table, lost in their own private worlds, only to emerge hours later with no memory of food consumed.
The palm-sized computer hummed happily against the wood table, almost like the purring of a cat, her fingers stroking the keys. It was a comforting sound, the subliminal reassurance that all was right with her world. So it was a shock when the glow from the screen died in mid-notation.
"Wha?" Jessy looked up to make sure that the rest of the kitchen was still powered. It was. She checked the cord where it plugged into the table outlet, then frowned. Even if the current had failed, the batteries should have kicked in before she lost power. She hit the side of the slate with the heel of her hand. Nothing.
"The kitchen table is for eating, not working," MUM's voice came over the kitchen speakers. There was a tone to it Jessy had never heard before. Greg was definitely in for a bonus this year. "Whatever it is that's so fascinating, it can wait until you're finished eating."
MUM had stopped powerflow to the slate.
A grin slowly curved the corners of Jessy's mouth. Everything up until now had been simple circuitry-response, exciting, but expected once the basic idea flew. But this -- this was an independent initiative! The biological materials contributed by the mad scientists over at GENius were linking with her programming to create an actual reaction to unprogrammed stimuli. They hadn't been sure it would work, or in what way. Theoretically, given enough variables, M.U.M. would be able to deal with unprogrammed incidents, and learn from them. An honest-to-god adaptive network.
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