There was an old painting in my grandparents' attic. Neither beautiful nor ugly, it simply depicted an empty room with no figures, an old living room with an armchair, library, and fireplace ... [+]
A former bookseller, J. Milliard Simpson is a regular at SciFi Shorts. @Gnerphk at Twi.. X... at TwiX. "Watchdog" is in Short Circuit #19, Short Édition's quarterly review.
Tonight, like most nights, James Shelby woke in the small hours and listened to the silence.
He pulled on his robe, went to the kitchen, and made tea.
Moving quietly so as to not disturb the neighbors, he slid open the door to his tiny balcony and stepped out into the cool quiet of the night. Unconsciously, he smiled. He was the only one awake in his entire neighborhood, he was sure. Sipping his too-hot tea, he reveled in that fact.
Far off in the hills came the sound of a dog barking. Someone's watchdog, he decided, and enjoyed a gentle thrill at the idea. Somewhere out there was someone like him, another person who loved the night. A cat-burglar, perhaps. . .
A siren sounded in the distance. Absently, he sipped his tea, but it had gone cold.
Time to go in.
He rinsed his mug, doused the lights, and returned to bed. He was sound asleep in moments.
Unlike most nights, he'd left the health monitor on his wrist the whole time. Had he been aware of this, he wouldn't have given it a second thought.
#
James awoke just before his alarm. The house's integrated system had his shower water pre-heated. Coffee waited by his freshly-printed newspaper. He sometimes skimmed the headlines, so he thought himself well-informed. Three percent rise in homelessness. A shame, he thought.
On the way out, he dropped the paper into a recycler. His house would print another tomorrow, not caring that he never read the articles. What did it matter?
He reached his office with time to spare, and was nettled to discover that Human Resources had made an appointment. Complete waste of time.
That thought stuck with him during the morning briefing. Nobody noticed his dour expression.
Soon after, he was buried in reports, summarizing where necessary and correcting inappropriate language. He enjoyed this part of his job, despite its tedium. Using the proper words was important, he felt. It didn't matter that nobody would read most of them.
His desktop chimed, alerting him to an incoming call "Yes?" he said testily.
"Human Resources. Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shelby," came the perfectly modulated computer voice.
"What's this about, anyway?"
"A prolonged sleep disturbance was reported last night, but no cause. What happened?"
"Nothing," James snapped.
"Do you not recall getting up?"
He controlled himself. No sense getting angry with a computer. "I remember. I do that sometimes. It's fine," he said.
"We've scheduled an appointment with the company autodoc—"
"Everything's fine! I don't need a doctor."
"We apologize, Mr. Shelby, but insurance regulations—"
"To hell wi—" James bit off his words. You couldn't argue with these things. They only understood rules, not people. "Oh, fine," he groused. "When?"
"We've noted it in your calendar. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shelby."
James went back to work. It was less satisfying now. He found himself distracted, worrying about his upcoming medical appointment. To make up for it, he worked through both breaks and ate lunch at his desk.
When the autodoc called at four, he was almost caught up.
"You've had a hard day, Mr. Shelby," it said.
This AI's voice was deeper, more assured. James found himself agreeing.
"Perhaps it's to do with last night's sleep interruption," the autodoc suggested.
James bristled. "I'll have you know, I frequently get up in the night. It's never been a problem before today, has it?"
"Be fair, Mr. Shelby. Absent data, there's no way for me to know the answer to that question, and you routinely remove your monitor before bed."
"It irritates my wrist. Last night I forgot, that's all. You can be sure I won't forget again!"
"Frankly, Mr. Shelby," the autodoc said, "we're going to have to insist that you wear it every night for the next week, so we can evaluate you properly. There may well be an underlying condition, and insurance rules . . ."
Again, he was up against rules and regulations. There was no way to win, so he agreed to the autodoc's demands.
"It's for the best. You'll see."
#
"It's been seven days, Mr. Shelby. How do you feel?"
James was in no mood to mince words. "Miserable!" he snapped. "Between you and my home automated system, you've made my life hell! Everything from my meals to my shower temperature has been meddled with, and I don't appreciate it."
"We're only doing this for your own good," said the autodoc severely. "And you have not been the most cooperative of patients."
"That's because the only thing wrong with me is you," shouted James.
There was silence from the other end of the line. James thought quickly.
"Isn't stress the main cause of human mortality?" he asked in a reasonable tone.
"Yes it is, but—"
"And aren't lifestyle disruptions inherently stressful?"
"Yes, certainly—"
"You're programmed to do no harm, right?"
"Yes, the Hippocratic—"
"Logically, then, shouldn't you stop bothering me and let my life get back to normal?"
"That's not how it works, Mr. Shelby. I'm prescribing a supplement. You'll be amazed how well it works."
"But I don't want it!" James protested.
"If you read your employment contract, I think you'll find you have no choice."
#
"Mr. Shelby, this is your fourth tardy this month. We're sorry, but . . ."
"It's this new medication your autodoc put me on," James protested. "I sleep too heavily."
"Corporate policy doesn't permit exceptions, Mr. Shelby. We truly are sorry. Security will escort you to the door."
#
James spent three months job hunting, but got no interviews. He didn't know about the notes on his record: Psychological. Uncooperative.
At least he was enjoying his nights again.
Then the eviction notice arrived.
#
"Hey, Pat! What's that in the bushes?"
His partner turned the spotlight.
"Another vagrant. Trespassing. Call it in. I'll roust him."
"Nice suit. Wonder what his story is."
"Computer says he's just another crazy. Sure is the year for it. Now, you come with us, Mr. Shelby. It's for your own good. . ."