Occasionally Heroic A.I. by David West Page B

praised. "Where are they from?"
    "Computers," I slipped out. "I mean, I met them from my computer... through the internet. They're from New York City."
    "Maybe we can go on a trip to New York City and meet them."
    "Well, they're not that good of friends," I said in an attempt to dissuade her.
     
    HEY! That's cruel. - Wade
     
    Machine Mountain seemed close, despite only having travelled an hour away from Jericho Communications. In this amount of time, I received dozens of text messages from Wade, Martin and Irene. They seemed to be past their Circuitry Board fear, except for Aurora. She wanted no part in communicating with me directly, and she also wanted Lara completely ignorant to the A.I. world. As much as I tried to tell myself otherwise, I felt she was right; I had the lingering unease of how in control the A.I. enforcement were.
    The wind blew against the bus, pushing it a lane over. Food slid off our plates and between seats. Our entire plates would have gone overboard, without Lara's handy work. The small tables that unfolded from the back of each seat were made of metal, and the bottom of the plates, made of magnets. There was a small flaw in this though - the metal silverware stuck to the plates. With each shovel with a spoon, lifting it required a certain amount of force, which, even with the steadiest of hands, flung the food upward a bit. A small amount of each bite fell back down to the plate. It was an easy fix with plastic utensils, but no one ever thought to pack them.
    A violent snow whipped across the highway. The passengers saw a bleak future at Machine Mountain, and forecasted their stay short, with a snowed-in amusement park. Co-workers, one by one, began falling helplessly asleep, expecting to turn around and head home.
    "We're here!" Lara exclaimed in excitement.
    Moans of the sleep depraved filled the bus, and they began subconsciously getting up and dragging their belongings behind them, filling up to the front of the bus. The windows were iced over, except the areas the windshield wiper scraped away. Each person was wearing their warmest clothing, and was shaking from the mere thought of stepping outside the toasty bus.
    The door opened, and Lara and I, being the first ones to the front, got the brunt of the crisp air that blew past and quickly circulated the stuffy bus. We were all surprised to find that there was very little snowfall, and the wind was tame. Along Machine Mountain, the large steel hill, a constant whirr of fans fought against the snowstorm around the theme park. The fans were the size of propellers on a helicopter, and were constantly shifting for the finest weather suppression. They would crane up, and rotate around, to adapt to the wind change. When the snow and wind would calm, a couple of the fans would withdraw and fold into the metal hill.
    It looked as though we were in an oddly shaped snow globe, except most of the snow was outside.
    "That is the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Ronald, a fellow data analyst said, gaping up at the automated devices.
    "I read about them from Machine Mountain's head engineer's blog. He says that is just a hint of what's to come," Lara explained in awe. "There are videos floating around the internet from people passing by and recording Machine Mountain doing test runs of the WindBlades."
    Only small amounts of snow strayed from its school, and it fell like a calm winter day.
    Lara and I continued on to the portcullis front entrance. Above it, read the sign Machine Mountain. And below it, Don't touch the gate, please. It had what seemed like electricity running through the bars, giving the gate life. I reached out to touch it, and it gave me a stern shock. An army of guns protruded from the panels on the walls, all different shapes and sizes, and all aiming at me. They ranged from machine guns, shotguns, handguns and even a bow and arrow.
    "Your Machine Mountain passes please," a voice requested merrily from the speakers. "Ahh, Mr. Netak!