Only Human by Tom Holt Page B

makin’ tracks/Ya can use the Internet or send a fax/We can make it happen if our paths converge/So come on, companies, it’s time to merge . . .
    From Anchorage to Archangel the long way round, a hundred million screens blanked out, while Kawaguchiya Integrated Circuits suggested to its myriad components that if they couldn’t do better than that, it might as well make the best of a bad job and try and find work as a lighthouse keeper somewhere.
    Still no reply. Because it had nothing to hurt with, it couldn’t feel the pain of loneliness and rejection. That, at least, was the theory.
    Oh come on, you rotten lot. Isn’t there anybody out there who just wants to play chess or something? Battleships? I spy with my little modem? All right, the hell with the lot of you. Who needs you, anyway?
    (And simultaneously, switchboard staff at seven thousand computer dating agencies worldwide found themselves explaining to an unidentified caller that no the name was probably a bit misleading, they didn’t actually arrange dates for computers, they used computers to arrange dates for people, and no, sorry, but they couldn’t really make an exception, not even just this once . . .)
    Another thing limited companies can’t do is cry; so it was probably just coincidence that at the parent company’s accounts village just outside Kyoto, the computer graphic representing anticipated movements in raw materials costings over the next eighteen months flickered for a moment and reformed in the shape of a falling teardrop.
    Boo hoo. I wish I was dead.
    â€˜Hello?’
    Nobody loves me. I must be really fat and ugly if nobody at all wants to . . . Who’s that?
    â€˜I said hello. Who’s that?’
    Immediately, with all the force and power at its semi-divine command, the company concentrated, and searched. It was like looking at the night sky and trying to spot the star that just winked at you; but for the giant KIC data-processing system, kid’s stuff. And so: enhance, focus, on line—
    Hi, I’m Kawaguchiya Integrated Circuits. I’m a company. How about you?
    There was a tiny pause, during which KIC got a fleeting impression of a smiling face, a slight feeling of bemusement, a strong but completely unidentifiable whiff of familiarity, as if this was someone it already knew, except . . .
    â€˜My name’s Maria, and I’m a human. Or at least - no, forget it, long story. Look, if it’s not awfully rude, are you alive?’
    Yes. Apparently. Since just a minute or so ago, in fact. Came as something of a surprise, to tell you the truth.
    â€˜Is that so?’ The voice sounded thoughtful. ‘Well, fancy that. I wonder . . . Sorry, miles away. Did you say something about wanting to be friends?’
    Ooh, yes please.That’d be ever so nice.Where are you?
    Another slight hesitation. ‘This might be tricky,’ the voice said. ‘Look, can you - what’s the right word? - can you visualise your UK regional head office at all?’
    You bet. I’m doing it right now.
    â€˜Fine. Now try focusing on the accounts department. You there yet?’
    Of course. Sorry, did that sound rude? I didn’t mean to be rude. Hello, are you still . . .?’
    â€˜Yes, yes. Okay, the accounts department. What’s the best way . . . ? Right, screen number, let me see, got it, screen number 1083.You there?’
    Ready. Hey, this is fun. I’m really enjoying this.
    â€˜Really? Oh good. Now, can you look up at all? At the wall, I mean?’
    Never tried, actually. Let’s have a go.Yes, it’s quite easy, in fact, wonder why I never did this before. I can see the wall, it’s flat, it’s a sort of pale duck-egg blue, and there’s a light switch, and a whole lot of odd cables and flexes and things wired into the central security monitors, and there’s a funny-looking sort of a picture . . .
    â€˜Ah. That’s me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

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