The Escapement Mechanism, Part 11
The experience was too vivid, too steeped in design patterns from the past to be a hallucination. No matter how crumbly the brain that Wemly had inherited from her grandma, no disintegrating piece of it could create an illusion so real.
She attempted to quiet the dissenting voice that shouted all of her experiences—reality itself—was manufactured wholesale within her brain, including her very thoughts of self-awareness.
These ruminations faded as the interface reappeared.
Three windows, new acquaintances now rather than strangers, were back on the computer monitor. Wemly needed to test their means of appearance, so she distracted herself, looking away at the far end of the lab, to the old machinery piled in the corner: vacuum pumps, corrugated tubing, broken wires, and dead batteries.
When she returned her gaze to the screen, the interface was gone. After seven wordless Mississippis of staring, it faded into view.
Any monochrome or low diversity and flat surface sufficed. Wemly fixated on a spot above the counter, shelves full of rarely used equipment in the background, with the absent stare of an inattentive listener. The interface did not appear. Nor did it appear on the rumpled coats hung haphazardly on the racks.
But the floor, the counters, windows—even the banner that hung at the far end of the lab, celebrating second place in the National Artificially Intelligent machine contest from two decades ago; the industrial grey of the interface clung to them all.
Wemly was the conduit. There could be no doubt. She was both computer and interface. The mouse and keyboard responded because her brain expected them to. It was incredible.
Utsab deserved to know about the Escapement Mechanism. Including his insights would help her analyses, but would necessitate briefing Warner. The thought of the exposure caused her stomach to ache; she could already feel felt the project being pried away from her. She had seen too many times—Warner’s lab included—where student work went through divine transmutation into ownership by the PI.
The importance of the device nagged at Wemly: How had this tech not escaped the lab? It was impossible the military wouldn’t be using a world’s best interface if they had access to it, and impossible Trudy had created it during her employ and kept it hidden from her supervisors.
Knowledge leaked through the smallest of cracks, and a million conversations sworn to secrecy could never create a perfect seal. Eventually an online forum—
“Watcha working on?” asked Utsab, who appeared behind her unannounced and undetected.
Wemly panicked, unsure how to explain what she was doing. She had focused on working undetected, rather than formulating the perfect cover story.
“Are you okay?” asked Utsab. She had clicked the windows closed faster than any interrupted IM conversation as a teen, but knew he must have seen. Her face burned with guilt, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she formulated a response.
“You’re monitor isn’t even on,” said Utsab. He looked worried. “What are you clicking around for?”
Her monitor was in power-saving mode; she was reluctant to wake it, unsure of what waited on the screen. It took her a few seconds after the adrenaline rush of being caught subsided to remember that the Escapement Mechanism created the interface, which happened in her brain. There was nothing for her to be worried about Utsab seeing.
“Just closing out of that program,” Wemly mumbled. She couldn’t bear to look Utsab in the eye.
He stared a hole into her before saying, “If you say so.” He walked to the door of the lab. “Want a coke?”
Wemly pressed her eyes with her palms. Utsab never offered to grab drinks. She wouldn’t be surprised if he returned with Warner himself, or the campus psychologist instead of a coke—just another scientist consuming herself in the anxious fire of ambition.
Utsab handed off the drink nonchalantly, but reminded her of an owl the way he kept her in sight as he retreated to his desk. Wemly brought up the unfinished abstract, but relegated it to half the screen, keeping the other unadorned black to superimpose the interface on. In the background, she fired up an analysis that would loop forever. It would keep her computer from timing out and pass scrutiny if Utsab surprised her again.