Burn-In: A Novel of the Real Robotic Revolution

by P.W. Singer

machines knew not to waste their energy on emotional inefficiency.

“Hello, World,” she said quietly to

was just one tiny skirmish in the all-encompassing war between billions of lines of software code, each fighting to make society function smoothly,

simultaneously screwing over their market competitors.

algorithmic gods of efficiency—the

law enforcement vehicle protocol had been required for legalization of autonomous vehicles.

“As that thing flies over to deliver its beet juice or spare charger or whatever, it’s just soaking up data to mine and sell.

No plan survived first contact with the enemy or DC traffic.

Patriots Camp.

“Roam Until Recall,”

of goat crossed with Break-Free cleaning solvent.

row of tents ran along each side of the path, covering ground that members of Congress had been using as a landing area for autonomous personal aircraft.

No one was ready yet to copy what General Douglas MacArthur had done to the Bonus Marchers over a century earlier and bring in tanks.

until Congress paid up.

digital blockade, not just jamming radios, but tossing up so much electronic noise that the cops’ surveillance drones had literally fallen from the skies.

toxic combination of an economic collapse and a screwed-up political system had done a job on the benefits they were supposed to get after their service.

veterans’ benefits, which had to be voted on each year.

pedestal that veterans were put on

made their checks the hostages that the two parties used

that was the thing about anger—once you got organized around it, it could never be satisfied.

the part Keegan wasn’t too comfortable with—the idea that they deserved more not just because they were owed it, but because they were better than those who owed them, and whose rules they no longer had to follow.

she could never really repay what the Corps gave her.

“Marine 1st Law Enforcement Battalion, most of it in the Sandbox.

the Sons of Aleppo.

Rising out of the refugee

camps that held the second generation of Syrian war refugee...

the suicide bombers had worn virtual reality cameras to allow fans to “experience” the attack.

She’d gone off to war a young woman and returned with

grandfather’s back,

“And thank you for your service.” To another vet, it was as big a “Fuck You” as could be said.

was spending her rush hour somewhere else, maybe taking a mind-vacation in Aruba or Alaska.

was simultaneously the least and most she could do to warn the woman that she might want to wait a beat.

she regretted her kindness, realizing the woman would likely post something about it the instant she turned.

versions projected it into your eyes, allowing more information to be packed in. You could control some features with double blinks or exaggerated eye swipes to the side, but any typing was done on her wrist-worn Watchlet,

the old iPhones she’d played with as a kid.

station’s automated bomb sniffer

Christopher Columbus.

also helped explain why the white marble had a pink hue from being splashed with red paint so often.

law enforcement agency networks were supposed to be integrated, but they’d been developed by di...

information flow lagged,

wearing vizglasses, but the blocky, thick, black-rimmed ones that the local PD used.

chem sensors in the HVAC system,”

glasses executed a digital handshake, which established an encrypted network.

counter-drone air patrol

wasn’t the call Keegan would have made. But it was all part of being quarterbacked from afar.

wall of smells.

More disorienting, though, was the spray of digitized color that washed over information that already overlaid Keegan’s view of the lobby due to her AR.

through it all walked hundreds of people, equally numb to it all.

virtual territory was dominated by the young and wealthy, staring vaguely into space as they experienced a personalized reality through their vizglasses.

Federal privacy regulations kept the system from identifying everyone in the crowd with facial recognition; only companies could legally do that.