Clu was so absorbed in the necessaries of wrapping his shift for the day, he almost didn't notice the first flag that ticked by: a bright blip of caution: for something in that new dwelling sector they were carving out.
Those were an occurrence in construction, if rare. Wireframe didn't always run exactly to spec, even with extensive testing. Sometimes it clashed with the shaders, or a twist that had modeled out fine ended in a blind curve that punched a notch where a fin should be, indetectable until it was invoked.
That was the thing with growth, and with change of any sort: they were inherently unstable. How did the saying go? Accidents happened? Something like that.
Clu stuck his head down and firmly settled to his own tasks, admittedly with some difficulty. Mostly because the event continued to trail new flags, sprouting handlers at an alarming rate. Still. Only amateurs failed to run their backups, and only Users failed to comment out their stuff. He never left a job half done.
By the time he'd shelved everything, the event had become an incident, and hazard totals were coming in. Recovery and Security had been mobilized for a while, long before the first warning: had been flagged. They could run their own functions, certainly better than he could. They knew what to do, and they did good work. And there were no casualties: every skinned knee on the Grid was not his personal responsibility.
The world would not end simply because he logged out to recharge. Besides, if he waited any longer to do it, odds increased geometrically that all he'd spool several errors before he could catch them. Then he'd have to Undo everything he'd just done.
As he stood and stretched, he wanted energy with a real, physical twinge--perfect knowledge of the exact texture, taste, and voltage he was after, bracing and bitter and rezzed up piercing lemon yellow.
Clu clenched his teeth 'til they ached and put his priority queue on other things: straightening the furniture, smoothing down the bed, pushing back against the idea of a bright tall glass with an equally compelling file of the deep, soft darkness cast by heavy blinds, the crisp sleek touch of the comforter, the slow, drowsy ease of finally slotting his disc in for a charge.
He was halfway down to rest mode when the pinging started.
Sure, he'd logged out. He'd also left the faulting terminal open.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," disoriented, tugging on a fresh template, "Coming."
There were a whole nest of news feeds open. One of his handlers was going off like fireworks, spooling a set of stories he knew already and coughing up data he already had.
There were too many of them for him to parse any correctly. He was still swatting down open windows when the outer door chime went off.
"...Sir?" Ah. Yeah, it was the start of Jarvis' shift. Maximum efficiency. "Sir, you'll want to see--oh. Please? Let? Me? In?"
His code-brother had a bunch of great ideas, but he also had some bad habits. Like teaching spine to the help.
"Yeah." Meaning stop, no, why. Then, louder: "Yeah! Gimme a second."
His disc went in with a recalcitrant snap, and then he was across the foyer. Jarvis nearly fell through the open door, having poised for a knock with his full weight behind it. Clu caught him and just, barely, restrained the urge to shove, planting him firmly against the nearest available wall.
Jarvis flickered, gulping down a squall of alarm, and nearly strobed out. "I--I--Sir! I--"
"Let's have it," growled Clu, not quite poking him in the chest. "Spill."
"Look at your location data!" he blurted, whole and entire, already cringing to duck his head.
"Man, you need to relax," he reached into the terminal, "you are harshing my vibe."
Clu quite literally pulled Jarvis up a chair, with him still in it. Jarvis sank into it like his knees had never supported him before, and might never again.
"Oh, thank you, Sir."
Clu hummed at him, noncommittal, already lost in the data hunt.
"So what am I looking for?" He'd !q for a bunch of it, but he already knew where everything was. "Yeah, it's an accident site; cleanup's been on it for--"
"Sir, I, think you'll find that if you index it with the--roster?" That last shivered out in a tentative squeak. "He's down there, Sir. You see?"
Clu did see. He very much saw.
This was what the feed had been trying to tell him, all lurid, high-impact footage meant to lure off-duty programs, glue them to this or that screen, keep them exchanging data with a particular information sponsor: his code-brother was scheduled for minor retrievals in that sector.
He was not scheduled to help out, but of course he wouldn't stop himself. Built to react to change and capitalize on opportunities, he literally could not fail to help. And at least half a dozen programs owed him their lives--he'd been up there finessing them out of the way, two and three at a time until he was alone on the ledge.
Something had been...off in the local lattice on the third level: the main beam sheared in half, and the biggest piece slammed into the truss under it, smashed to glittering powder like a blown window. With its main supports buckled, the floor rippled, then yawned open, and simply took everything with it.
Including. His. Code-brother.
"He's still here," Clu felt himself say, tinny to his own ears, like an echo from the bottom of a well. "He's not--I'd know if he were gone, I'd feel it."
"You'll need this." Jarvis pushed a gleaming hex packet at him and bodily ran from the room.
But Clu only turned the thing over with nerveless hands, staring at it, not even watching him go. To User eyes, it was a hexagonal stamped sheet of plastic that gleamed with a flutter of rapid, ever-changing white text. This one burned an eye-gouging combination of mint and crimson.
In practical terms, it was an emergency compiler access and the pointer data for the facility: a portable ambulance ride and literal written invitation.
It wobbled a little in his grip. He realized, suddenly, that he was shaking, and that he couldn't seem to stop.
"Wait," softly. But after all, the room was empty. "Wait, no--" panic welling up that he bit down. "That's not--"
This was not the local address. This was a specialist facility.
His code-brother wasn't dead. Clu would know if that happened.
But he might be dying.
Clu gripped the packet in both hands and poured all his will into being at the pointer address in one great gathering roar.
Fractured {angst; hospital setting; injury; possible substance use references}
Those were an occurrence in construction, if rare. Wireframe didn't always run exactly to spec, even with extensive testing. Sometimes it clashed with the shaders, or a twist that had modeled out fine ended in a blind curve that punched a notch where a fin should be, indetectable until it was invoked.
That was the thing with growth, and with change of any sort: they were inherently unstable. How did the saying go? Accidents happened? Something like that.
Clu stuck his head down and firmly settled to his own tasks, admittedly with some difficulty. Mostly because the event continued to trail new flags, sprouting handlers at an alarming rate. Still. Only amateurs failed to run their backups, and only Users failed to comment out their stuff. He never left a job half done.
By the time he'd shelved everything, the event had become an incident, and hazard totals were coming in. Recovery and Security had been mobilized for a while, long before the first warning: had been flagged. They could run their own functions, certainly better than he could. They knew what to do, and they did good work. And there were no casualties: every skinned knee on the Grid was not his personal responsibility.
The world would not end simply because he logged out to recharge. Besides, if he waited any longer to do it, odds increased geometrically that all he'd spool several errors before he could catch them. Then he'd have to Undo everything he'd just done.
As he stood and stretched, he wanted energy with a real, physical twinge--perfect knowledge of the exact texture, taste, and voltage he was after, bracing and bitter and rezzed up piercing lemon yellow.
Clu clenched his teeth 'til they ached and put his priority queue on other things: straightening the furniture, smoothing down the bed, pushing back against the idea of a bright tall glass with an equally compelling file of the deep, soft darkness cast by heavy blinds, the crisp sleek touch of the comforter, the slow, drowsy ease of finally slotting his disc in for a charge.
He was halfway down to rest mode when the pinging started.
Sure, he'd logged out. He'd also left the faulting terminal open.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," disoriented, tugging on a fresh template, "Coming."
There were a whole nest of news feeds open. One of his handlers was going off like fireworks, spooling a set of stories he knew already and coughing up data he already had.
There were too many of them for him to parse any correctly. He was still swatting down open windows when the outer door chime went off.
"...Sir?" Ah. Yeah, it was the start of Jarvis' shift. Maximum efficiency. "Sir, you'll want to see--oh. Please? Let? Me? In?"
His code-brother had a bunch of great ideas, but he also had some bad habits. Like teaching spine to the help.
"Yeah." Meaning stop, no, why. Then, louder: "Yeah! Gimme a second."
His disc went in with a recalcitrant snap, and then he was across the foyer. Jarvis nearly fell through the open door, having poised for a knock with his full weight behind it. Clu caught him and just, barely, restrained the urge to shove, planting him firmly against the nearest available wall.
Jarvis flickered, gulping down a squall of alarm, and nearly strobed out. "I--I--Sir! I--"
"Let's have it," growled Clu, not quite poking him in the chest. "Spill."
"Look at your location data!" he blurted, whole and entire, already cringing to duck his head.
"Man, you need to relax," he reached into the terminal, "you are harshing my vibe."
Clu quite literally pulled Jarvis up a chair, with him still in it. Jarvis sank into it like his knees had never supported him before, and might never again.
"Oh, thank you, Sir."
Clu hummed at him, noncommittal, already lost in the data hunt.
"So what am I looking for?" He'd !q for a bunch of it, but he already knew where everything was. "Yeah, it's an accident site; cleanup's been on it for--"
"Sir, I, think you'll find that if you index it with the--roster?" That last shivered out in a tentative squeak. "He's down there, Sir. You see?"
Clu did see. He very much saw.
This was what the feed had been trying to tell him, all lurid, high-impact footage meant to lure off-duty programs, glue them to this or that screen, keep them exchanging data with a particular information sponsor: his code-brother was scheduled for minor retrievals in that sector.
He was not scheduled to help out, but of course he wouldn't stop himself. Built to react to change and capitalize on opportunities, he literally could not fail to help. And at least half a dozen programs owed him their lives--he'd been up there finessing them out of the way, two and three at a time until he was alone on the ledge.
Something had been...off in the local lattice on the third level: the main beam sheared in half, and the biggest piece slammed into the truss under it, smashed to glittering powder like a blown window. With its main supports buckled, the floor rippled, then yawned open, and simply took everything with it.
Including. His. Code-brother.
"He's still here," Clu felt himself say, tinny to his own ears, like an echo from the bottom of a well. "He's not--I'd know if he were gone, I'd feel it."
"You'll need this." Jarvis pushed a gleaming hex packet at him and bodily ran from the room.
But Clu only turned the thing over with nerveless hands, staring at it, not even watching him go. To User eyes, it was a hexagonal stamped sheet of plastic that gleamed with a flutter of rapid, ever-changing white text. This one burned an eye-gouging combination of mint and crimson.
In practical terms, it was an emergency compiler access and the pointer data for the facility: a portable ambulance ride and literal written invitation.
It wobbled a little in his grip. He realized, suddenly, that he was shaking, and that he couldn't seem to stop.
"Wait," softly. But after all, the room was empty. "Wait, no--" panic welling up that he bit down. "That's not--"
This was not the local address. This was a specialist facility.
His code-brother wasn't dead. Clu would know if that happened.
But he might be dying.
Clu gripped the packet in both hands and poured all his will into being at the pointer address in one great gathering roar.
"WHERE Ĭ̶̻ ̵̥͒S̶͓͝. ̵̎ H̶̩̯͉̦̟͓͇̺̰̦͖̗̩͆̿́͆̇͒͐̾̍̆̔̃̀́̈̑̚͜ͅĘ̷̘̲̼̪̣̔̏͑͆́".