Hotel Security Read online

  -----------------------------------

  Hotel Security

  by Carl Frederick

  -----------------------------------

  Science Fiction

  * * *

  Fictionwise, Inc.

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©2005 by Carl Frederick

  First published in Analog Magazine, December 2005

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  “Mag card or retinal scan?” said the hotel night clerk. “Or both if you want to give a key to a visitor."

  Roger Royce glanced at the scanner and forced a smile. “Scanner,” he said. “Left eye."

  “Oh,” said the clerk, a look of surprise on his face. “You've done this before.” He pushed a button and the scanner swiveled out to the front of the reservations desk. “Almost everyone chooses the card.” As Roger leaned in, his left eye over the metal guide, the clerk added, “People seem almost afraid of this thing."

  “I have reservations about this,” said Roger, “but scanners are the way of the future.” His smile edged toward a scowl. Although he much preferred the mag card, he was duty bound to choose the scanner. After all, it was probably because of him that the hotel even had a scanner.

  A flash came from the lens and Roger then bent to pick up his overnight bag and laptop.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the clerk. “But I need to see a photo ID, please."

  Roger put down his baggage and took out his wallet. His hand hesitated over his driver's license before withdrawing instead, a phony ID. Performing a spur of the moment test, Roger handed the ‘Eastern Lycanthropic’ identification card to the clerk.

  The clerk glanced at it and passed it back. “Thank you, Dr. Royce. Your room number is 2217. Shall I write it down?"

  “No thank you.” Roger picked up his bags.

  “Enjoy your stay at the Neotel Riverside,” said the clerk. “Have a good night."

  Roger bit his lip for a moment before saying, ‘Thank you’ and then heading toward the elevator. He'd considered apprising the clerk of the lapse of security but decided there was no need to make an issue of it and embarrass the man. Roger smiled, thinking that the encounter would make a good opening anecdote for his speech in the morning.

  As he walked, Roger noticed the announcement monitor showing the next day's events. He grimaced as he read the first entry.

  National Hotel Security Conference

  9:00 a.m. Galaxy Room

  Breakfast Keynote Speech

  Dr. Roger Royce—Chief Scientist, Hotel Security International

  'Hotels—The First Line of Defense against Terrorists'

  Waiting at the elevators, he took a long glance around the lobby. This was the first time he'd stayed at a Neotel. But except for the retinal scanner, there didn't seem to be anything particularly ‘neo’ about it. At least nothing that could be seen. He did know that it had the very latest security system. He had designed some of it.

  The elevator came, rose, and deposited him on the twenty-second floor. Only then did he note that he'd forgotten his room number. It would be embarrassing to return to the reservation desk, so he spent the next couple of minutes eyeing each of the doors until a retinal lock displayed green. With a sigh of relief, he felt the door handle engage. A light came on as Roger walked into his hotel room.

  “Welcome to your room,” came a cheerful voice from a dressing table. “I am your information butler."—Roger, smiling, shook his head and set his bags on the desk—"Just pick up the phone and push the ‘Information Butler’ button—and I'll be there to assist you."

  The wall color changed and, after a few seconds, changed again. Then the walls ran through a rainbow of colors.

  Roger watched, speechless. He'd known these technologies existed, but had never stayed at a hotel employing them.

  “Neotel provides user-configurable accommodations,” said the voice. The room reverted to its original beige hue. “You can use the touch panel by the window to change the wall colors, or simply ask me to change them for you."

  The picture on the wall then exhibited the same instability—changing from a landscape to a tiger to The Mona Lisa then finally to a view of The White House. “You can use the panel under the picture, or just ask me. I can even help you upload images from your laptop or from many brands of cell phones."

  Music began to play but Roger couldn't tell where the sound came from.

  “And music, of course,” said the Information Butler. The 1812 Overture gave way to Pachelbel's Canon and then to silence. “And for a small fee, you can even specify a scent. Maybe fresh-cut grass, or salt water over craggy rocks. Just pick up the phone and push ‘Information Butler'.” After a pause of about a second, the voice from the dressing table said, “There are no better accommodations to be had than at a Neotel. We are the best!"

  “Oh, vanity!” said Roger, lightly. “I'm accustomed to more modest accommodations."

  Roger smiled. The place did have its geeky pleasures. In the morning, he intended to try some of the ‘user configurable’ toys. But now, he was too tired. He stripped down and headed for the bathroom. If the toilet talks to me, I'll probably lose it.

  A few minutes later, ready for bed, he pulled back the covers and flopped down prone on the sheets. The sheets weren't hotel-room cold; the bed was obviously pre-warmed. Roger tap-switched off the light and gave a sigh of relaxation.

  “Hi there,” came a voice from deep within the bed.

  Roger rolled over, sharply and sat upright. “What!"

  “I am your model SSC-IB2 Intelligent Bed from Sleepsmarts Corporation."

  “You're kidding,” said Roger.

  “No, not at all,” said the bed. “Is the mattress to your liking? I can make it harder or softer."

  “Good grief,” said Roger, “This is real AI with voice recognition."

  “Indeed, I am.” The bed's voice was mellow and soothing. “Is the mattress to your desired firmness?"

  “I'd like it a little firmer,” said Roger, less interested in his mattress than in testing the limits of the bed's language processing.

  “Be so good as to lie down,” said the bed. “That makes for a more accurate adjustment."

  “How do you know I'm not lying down?"

  “There are pressure sensors throughout the mattress. It is an active mattress, accommodating to your movements during the night."

  “Fine, then.” Roger stretched out with his nose on the pillow. “Make it firmer,” he said, wondering if the bed could understand him in spite of his voice being muffled by the pillow.

  “Just say stop,” said the bed, “when it is optimally comfortable."

  “Oh, stop,” said Roger after a few moments. “This is perfect."

  “Glad to be of service."

  Roger pulled the covers over him. “Good night, bed."

  “Good night."

  A few moments later, Roger rolled over onto his side and reached for the phone. “Rats!” he said. “I always forget to ask for a wakeup call."

  “I can do that,” said the bed. “What time do you wish to be awakened?"

  “What? Oh. Six o'clock, please."

  “Wakeup call at six, sharp,” said the bed. “Good night."

  “Good night,” said Roger, “and thanks.” He shook his head against the pillow. What am I doing? Being polite to a simple AI—well, maybe not exactly simple.

  Roger
spent a fitful few hours. Not even the comfort of the SSC-IB2 Intelligent Bed had made sleep less elusive than it had been of late.

  He rolled over and glanced at the clock radio. “Oh no,” he said. “Only two in the morning."

  “What's wrong, sir?” said the bed.

  Forgetting where he was for an instant, Roger started. “What?"

  “Do you need medical assistance? I heard you groaning in your sleep."

  Memory having returned, Roger relaxed. “No. No, I'm fine.” Then he sat up. “You said ‘sir'. How did you know I was male?"

  “From profiling. Your weight is 182 pounds and I estimate your height at five feet, ten inches. And during the course of your motions during sleep, the mattress sensors detected determining features of your anatomy. By the way, your Body Mass Index is 26.1."

  “Oh gosh.” Roger plopped down on the sheets. “It's the stress. I'm putting on weight.” He bit his lower lip. I'm doing it again; I'm explaining myself to a talking bed.

  “There's a good health club at this hotel.” The bed's voice sounded eager. “You could work off those pounds. The club is free during your stay. And the yearly membership fee for non-guests is quite reasonable—or so I've been instructed to say."

  “No. I'm just not sleeping well."

  “I am very sad to hear that,” said the bed.

  Roger smiled. “Sad? How can an AI be sad?"

  “My sleeper-satisfaction algorithm indicates that I am failing in my purpose."

  “And what exactly is that purpose?"

  “My purpose"—the bed spoke as if intoning a mantra—"is to assure you of a good night's sleep."

  “Then your sadness is justified.” Roger rolled face down and buried his face in the pillow. “I don't suppose,” he said, his voice muffled, “that you might have a sleeping pill I could borrow."

  “No, sir. SSC-IB2 intelligent beds are not authorized to dispense medication."—Roger almost laughed at the bed's seriousness—"but I think I can offer something better."

  “Excuse me?” Roger raised himself on his elbows.

  “The founder of Sleepsmarts Corporation is Doctor Wolfgang Schneider, the acclaimed author of ‘My Analyst Has Fuzzy Ears’ and ‘Sleep like a Baby'. Both books, by the way, are available at the gift shop at a special reduced price for hotel guests."

  “Much good it does me now."

  “I have been programmed with the knowledge of those books,” said the bed. “I believe I can provide you with a method to sleep like a baby."

  “Fine, fine,” said Roger, wearily. “And what is that method?"

  “Sleep with a teddy bear."

  “Do what?” Roger rolled onto his back and let his head fall to the pillow. “Give me a break!"

  “The essence of Doctor Schneider's method,” said the bed with a slow, cadenced delivery, “is, if you wish to sleep like a baby, act like a baby. Don't take your troubles to bed. Don't think about your job, your health, your relationships. Let the teddy bear's fur against your cheek spur you to empty your mind of thoughts, and to sleep the sleep of the innocent."

  The innocent. Roger contemplated lost innocence. Not all that long ago, he'd been a naïve geeky researcher in AI systems. But he'd been lured first into the conspiratorial world of government security and afterwards drifted into his current occupation. It was a struggle acting like a suspicious, ultra-cautious security expert all the time. But his clients expected it from the man who ‘wrote the book’ on hotel security systems. I wonder. Maybe that's the cause of my sleep problems. Maybe I'm simply not cut out for this line of work. In fact—

  “Sir?” said the bed.

  Roger snapped out of his introspection. “Yes?"

  “Would you like to try the teddy bear method?"

  “It is somewhat academic,” said Roger, wondering if the SSC-IB2 could detect sarcasm, “as I didn't happen to bring a teddy bear with me."

  “You may use mine,” said the bed.

  Roger, hearing the whine of a motor, leaned his head over the side of the bed. He saw a drawer slide open from under the bed-frame. From inside, a teddy bear looked up at him. He lifted out the plush animal.

  “I had a bear like this when I was a kid,” said Roger, in the throes of fond memory.

  “I've been told most children did."

  “I named him Theodore. We were a very formal family."

  “Hi,” said the Bear.

  “Yikes!” From the surprise, Roger dropped the bear but caught it before it hit the ground. He noticed it was warm, like a living creature—a pet.

  “I think I like you,” said the bear. Its voice was pitched lower than the bed's. It sounded like a six-year-old boy imitating his father's voice.

  “I"—Roger couldn't think of anything intelligent to say—"I think I like you, too."

  “It is very late now,” said the bed. “You two should go to sleep.” The bed sounded very parental.

  “But—"

  “You may embrace the bear with complete confidence,” said the bed. “For your safety, it is sterilized after each use."

  Roger gave a mental shrug. Why the heck not? It's a sleep aid. He drew up the covers and pulled the bear close. He gave a soft chuckle. They thought of everything; the bear even has a heartbeat.

  “Good night, bed,” said Roger.

  “Good night."

  “Good night bear—Theodore."

  “Good night."

  I wonder if I talk in my sleep. Roger nuzzled the bear. I'll have to ask Theodore in the morning.

  * * * *

  “Good morning."

  “Grummf,” Roger mumbled.

  “Six o'clock. Time to get up."

  As intellect caught up with reflex, Roger snapped his eyes open, then remembered his wakeup call. “Just ten more minutes, please."

  “Please confirm,” said the bed. “Do you want me to alert you in ten minutes?"

  “Yes.” But as he said it, Roger realized he didn't need the extra time. He felt very awake and very relaxed. Maybe there's something to be said for the teddy bear stratagem. A return to innocence. He smiled. “I'd rather hoped Theodore, uh, the bear would have given me the wakeup call."

  “That was the intention,” said the bed. “But I'm no longer able to communicate with the bear."

  “Why?"

  “I don't know. There is no response from its net address. Perhaps the wireless access point is down."

  Rodger shrugged. It was the best sleep he'd had in months. He wondered if the bed had detected his shrug using the mattress sensors. But again, it didn't matter. Roger stretched then luxuriated until the next bed alarm.

  He rolled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. After shaving, he hopped in the shower—and saw a karaoke control next to the joystick-like faucet. He sang a few choruses of Gilbert and Sullivan in the steamy torrent and then basked with sybaritic enjoyment in the air stream from the full-body hot air dryer.

  Roger loaded the coffee maker. While listening to the gurgling of boiling water and smelling what was clearly fresh ground coffee beans, he picked up the newspaper e-reader from the TV cabinet. He tried to select his hometown paper, but the reader didn't seem to work; it showed no papers available for download.

  Only a minor nuisance; he could do without reading the paper for a day—especially with the current state of the world. He took his mug and sat, carefully so as not to spill the coffee, in the room's easy chair. On the left armrest, he saw an on/off switch. Idly, he flipped it on.

  “Good morning, sir,” said the chair in a sultry feminine voice.

  “Sir?” Roger chuckled in surprise. “You've been talking to the bed, haven't you?"

  “We're part of the same system,” said the chair. “Would you care for a back massage?"

  “Yes, please."

  The chair back began to vibrate with the center of the undulations between Roger's shoulders. “Lower, please."

  The center moved down. “Is this low enough?” said the chair.

  “Ahh, wonderful,�
�� said Roger. “But just a tad lower."

  “What is a tad?"

  “In this case,” said Roger, a tremolo in his voice from the vibrations, “about an inch.” He made a mental note to find an excuse to stay at a Neotel again.

  About five minutes later, Roger, both tingly and relaxed, turned off the chair and fetched his laptop. He set it on his knee and brought up his e-mail program. But, like the e-reader, the program didn't work. He ran a diagnostic and found there was no wireless signal. That explains the e-reader problem. The room's wireless is down. With some annoyance, he slipped the laptop back into its case. He could do without news, but not without e-mail.

  Quickly, he dressed in what he liked to call his battle armor—his business suit and power tie. Even though there was a full breakfast for him in the Galaxy room before his speech, he'd go down for more coffee. There had to be a working wireless access point in the coffee shop.

  He checked his armor in the mirror, nodded in approval, picked up his laptop and strode to the door. He disengaged the security latch and turned the handle—but the door wouldn't open. The handle moved freely but didn't seem to engage the lock mechanism. Roger jiggled the handle a few times, but it still wouldn't engage.

  He stared at the door for a few moments, then turned on his heel and darted for the telephone. He picked up the handset and pushed the ‘Information Butler’ button.

  “This is your butler. How may I assist you?” came the cheerful voice he recognized from the previous night.

  “My door lock isn't working. I'm locked in my room."

  After a few moments, the butler answered, “Information acknowledged. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  “What?” Roger remembered he was dealing with an AI. “Yes. Get me out, please,” he said, calmly.

  “I can't do that,” said the butler. “I'm only an information system."

  “Fine,” said Roger. “Then connect me with someone who can."

  “Who can what, sir?"

  “Who can get me out of here,” said Roger, almost shouting.

  “Should I connect you with the hotel maid's desk?"

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Roger, sheepishly—embarrassed that he'd lost his temper with an AI. “But, I have reservations about this."