A flush, covert panel sits at eye level, not far from the apartment’s
front door. To its right are the rec room’s manual light buttons.
Electronics are dark, and every wall opening is sealed by perfectly
fabricated doors and blackout windows. The space is silent—
mandated as such to allow for optimal sleep.
When the Deep Space Atomic Clock broadcasts its second daily
timestamp, Collective society on the 20/35 longitudinal resets to
00:00.
1
Novus Dies
The Otto home automation unit pings its update server from a
back-box behind the left panel. The update package checks out
against the header and security data, and the unit accepts the update
without question. It places all active services into its autonomic
bank and then reboots so fast that no human would have noticed the
downtime. Back online, it retrieves all active services from the
bank, and then switches all the lights in the apartment to full
luminance.
‘What the!’ comes a loud shout from the master bedroom.
The rec room’s newly cataloged furniture and art speak of
contemporary bachelorhood—a spartan and sleek aesthetic, with the
man now stumbling through the doorway the only item that’s
seemingly out of place.
The man shields his eyes with his palms and goes to stand in the
center of the room. Squinting against the brightness, he drops his
hands from his face and flicks one wrist a couple of times. When
nothing happens, he repeats the procedure in different directions:
first to his left, then to his right, and eventually he turns around and
flicks his wrist in the direction he came from. Still there’s no
response.
He starts searching for something and, eventually finding the
half-forgotten manual light buttons next to the Otto’s panel, pumps
them with all the vehemence his exhausted and hungover self can
muster.
At last the Otto switches all the lights off again and the man
lumbers back to his room, mumbling incoherently. When he’s
halfway there, the Otto again switches on all the lights and the man
groans as he arches his back and tugs at his hair. When he starts
moving back toward the manual buttons, the home automation unit
2
Schalk Holloway
quickly switches all the lights off again. The man’s arms shoot out
like a tightrope walker fighting off a wobble, and then he freezes.
The Otto switches all the lights on and off three times in quick
succession.
Furious, the man speeds back to his room, picks up his comms
unit, and seats it in his right ear. ‘Otto, who can I call about this
malfunction?’ The Otto rattles off a few options, but before long the
unit’s gender-neutral robotic drone gets on the man’s nerves and he
arches his back again and claws at his chest. ‘Just call the building
rep!’
Before the call connects, the Otto starts strobing the lights on
and off, and the man rushes back to the rec room, hoping to find
something to vent his frustration on. The Otto doesn’t tell him, but it
hasn’t called the rep. Instead, it found the correct dial tone in the
wild and is merely repeating it incessantly over the man’s comms.
The man lets the Otto cycle through a host of other contacts, only to
get the same grating dial tone with each attempt