The drive had been lazy, uneventful. Window open, AC off, no online activity for hours, no cravings of any kind. On a whim, Akili had decided to visit the new megastore on the outskirts of the outskirts. Someone had told him it would be worth it. They hadn’t been wrong.
The building stood alone in an empty field, walls all glass, like the skin had been peeled off and one was now privy to its inner workings. On the inside, the aisles were brimming with wonders in all sorts of guises. Clothes, tools, foodstuffs, gadgets and things Akili didn’t even recognize. But the key in this particular store was that the aisles weren’t static: to save storage space they ebbed and flowed, came together and moved apart like the bellows on a harmonium in a mechanical waltz. Plus, it was not just the transparency, somehow Akili could see things more clearly inside the store than in the field it occupied; the colours were more vivid, he could identify details on the products his brain told him he shouldn’t be able to detect at this distance; even hints of pleasant smells were in the air, which, again, seemed impossible. But most impressive was that the hypnotic movement inside the store was synchronized, it had purpose. As the aisles joined and separated, diligent robots replaced items as others picked them up, taking them to be packed and loaded on delivery drones, which zapped constantly in and out, their hum filling the air as if setting the aisle movements to music.
There were few people in sight except for the ad-hoc tourists like Akili. Just a couple of technicians who wandered around unjamming and lubricating, probably just fulfilling the Minimum Human Employment Law, but at any rate spoiling the show. Wherever they went, the aisles froze in static, parallel, safe-distance normality, jumping back to life the second motion sensors decided it was safe; like in the old tales of workshops animating to dance and song in the absence of their owners. Of course, all this poetic efficiency was mostly for show. These were lightweight short-range drones; the heavy lifters for larger objects or transatlantic delivery were much farther out, on even cheaper land, probably in much more drab warehouses, with normal boring aisles.
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Akili mused that, all in all, it was an interesting and novel spectator sport. Until it wasn’t.
Suddenly, one of those ubiquitous AI-generated, androgynous, race-ambiguous holograms materialized in front of him, eyes the usual disturbing mix of vacant and piercing.
“You have been standing on company property for over five minutes.” The tone was calm, even soothing, but decisive. “According to the terms and conditions of the lease you have tacitly agreed to be approached by a Non-Person Associate.”
The hologram paused for about half a second and Akili instinctively knew what was happening. He had probably given access to his identity details, and, thus, to his socials, which were being combed through. Not that it mattered, there would probably have been many other ways of getting to the same place even if he had flatly refused, which no one he knew ever did. Why bother? It usually meant you were denied access, got stuck in the middle of something, or that tasks took longer than your attention span. No one craves any of that.
“It looks like you have not made purchases recently,” the hologram stated helpfully. “But do not worry, we have many affordable suggestions that fit your likes and needs. Please make your choice now.”
