Machine Man - Max Barry [94]
ONCE AT university I fed a dollar into a vending machine, pressed C and 4, and nothing happened. So I pressed the buttons again, with more authority, then cancel, then many buttons at the same time. I cursed and slapped it, because I was nineteen and someone was coming down the corridor, and I said, “Fuckin’ machine.”
Later I saw another guy staring at it. I opened my mouth to tell him it was busted, but before I could, he slapped its side, the exact place I had, and said, “Fuckin’ machine.”
I guess it’s always uncomfortable to discover you’re not as individual as you thought. But it really bothered me. From one perspective, I was an independent animal, exercising free will in order to elicit predictable reactions from an inert vending machine. But from another, the vending machine was choosing to withhold snacks in order to extract predictable, mechanical reactions from young men. I couldn’t figure out any objective reason to consider one scenario more likely than the other.
I tried to raise this with a philosophy major at a floor party. She said, “Oh, you’re a determinist.” Her tone implied that this was naïve and funny. I knew what the word meant when applied to algorithms but not people. “You don’t believe in free will,” she said. “You think everything’s gears and levers.” She had a lollipop and at this point she sucked it. I didn’t think I disbelieved in free will but as we talked I learned she thought brains were magical consciousness fairylands so maybe I did. Before we got anywhere she went off and made out with a guy I didn’t know. I felt lonely and unsatisfied and went downstairs and sat on the floor in front of the vending machine. I didn’t know why, exactly. I just felt we had something in common.
THE STREET turned to meet the main road and I followed it, moving between cars. A horn blared. A yellow sedan was in the lane ahead and I saw the driver’s eyes flick into the rearview mirror. Then the car leaped into the SUV beside it. Glass popped. I pounded past. I was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but that wasn’t my priority. My priority was finding Lola before her heart stopped.
Something went clunk in my gun arm. I thought, Oh-oh, because maybe this was how they remotely shut me down. Then I remembered what Jason had said about unlocking my ammunition. I felt an urge to test this hypothesis. I should wait. I shouldn’t start shooting things on a major roadway. But on the other hand, it was really tempting. The day I bought my phone, I had a major report due and tried hard to resist playing with it. I held out until nightfall but by six a.m. was still awake and discovering new features and I had to call in sick. This was like that, only attached to me, and with bullets. I should test it now, I thought. I couldn’t wait to learn how it worked until Carl was running at me, swinging sledgehammer arms. That would be really poor planning. I looked around. Coming up on the right was a giant billboard. On it an attractive family in bright clothes laughed and draped themselves around a game console. I thought, That.
I raised my gun arm. I clenched my mental fist. The arm barked like a chain saw. It sounded angry. The billboard burst apart. Shell casings jingled across the asphalt beside me, jettisoning from my arm in a flume of white gas. Pieces of billboard fluttered to the ground. As I ran through them, I thought, I am a Lola-rescuing machine. And something inside me replied, I am a Lola-rescuing machine. I smiled, because if that wasn’t an echo, it was pretty clever.
ON OCCASION Jason appeared at the window inside my head. Each time he imparted an impression of location and I accepted this and closed the window again. I didn’t need to plot a route. My legs