Fool's Gold

The StpnPick scanned Lukas’ ID off his phone while still in his pocket and accessed his primary credit account. The small print on the front door informed customers that entering the premises authorized the store to do this. On the touchscreen by the counter he selected a plant-based Reuben, a Caesar salad wrap, and two sparkling waters. One of the three robot chefs visible behind the glass quickly assembled the sandwiches and filled two cups. The containers for the sandwiches and the cups were edible, though Lukas always found them too bland to eat. He always threw them in a bin where birds and squirrels usually would finish them off in an hour. His order popped out through a trap door on an extension board that looked like a mechanical tongue sticking out at him.
 
Lukas had seen videos of mid-20^th century “automats” that were similar to the StpnPick in concept, though back then human workers prepared the foods in the back and inserted them in boxes accessible to customers from the outside when they inserted coins. There were rarely any workers in the StpnPick. Sometimes a technician might adjust a machine or fuss with the software, but generally the store ran by itself without human hands. Usually the only people were customers, and at the moment he was the only one of them. He placed his purchase in the tote he had carried into the store and walked outside to where his leased Changan SUV was recharging at its post. The charging post, having scanned the car license plate and using the car’s wireless connection, was continuously deducting the appropriate amount from Lukas’ primary credit account as payment to the local electric company. He pondered how inconvenient it had been earlier with wallets full of credit cards and even paper money, which had been discontinued two years earlier.
 
The car door opened for him, having noted his proximity via his key fob and determined by some algorithm his intention to get in.
 
“I’ll take those,” said his cousin Aliz from the passenger seat as she reached for her wrap and sparkling water. Aliz was two years younger than he, and fresh out of college. Until this trip, Lukas barely knew her. They had met at rare family get-togethers, but had interacted little. He didn’t know if she had a job. The once common question, “What do you do?” in recent years had come to be regarded as impolite. Lukas was a “technician,” which meant his job consisted mostly of unplugging and replugging glitchy computers and swapping out the occasional part. All of this could be done by robots, and he assumed he would be fired as soon as the cost of buying and operating them dropped substantially below the cost of his salary and benefits.
 
“How’s your Reuben?” she asked.
 
“Not bad,” he answered between bites. “The car should be topped up by the time we’re done,” he added. “I gather Uncle Bertram’s cabin is pretty off-grid, so I don’t want to risk getting stuck there without a charge.”
 
“Right. You know,” said Aliz, “I barely knew I had an Uncle Bertram. I heard my mom mention his name maybe twice when I was growing up.”
 
“Great uncle actually.”
 
“Whatever,” she said. “You?”
 
“Pretty much the same,” Lukas answered. “I knew the name but never met him. But I guess we’re the surviving relatives he disliked the least.”
 
“But he never met us.”
 
“Maybe that’s why he disliked us the least. He even took care of his own funeral so no family was involved in that. His lawyer said drones picked him up and sent him to a crematory according to some predetermined plan.”
 
“If he lived so off-grid, how did he arrange that? How did he pay for it?”
 
“He didn’t work off-grid. Quite the opposite. He had an office/apartment in town that was very well connected. That’s where he died. But all of that space was just leased. The Will said the contents and the space reverts to the landlord. It’s on page five or six of the addenda somewhere. He was a recluse on weekends though.”
 
“I didn’t read all of the documents,” she admitted. “I focused on the part of the Will that mentioned me… and you.”
 
The post lit green.
 
“We’re charged up. Ready to go?”
 
“Let me hit the rest room. I’ll be right back.”
 
While she was gone, Lukas tossed the remains of their lunch in the mulching bin next to the post. Two chipmunks clambered into the bin and would make short work of the containers. The car disconnected itself from the recharge post.
 
As soon as Aliz returned, Lukas spoke up. “Chacha. Continue trip.”
 
Lukas settled back in his seat as his car backed itself out of the parking spot and resumed its GPS-guided drive toward the cabin.
 
“Thanks for driving,” Aliz said.
 
“No problem,” said Lukas with his hands interlocked comfortably behind his head.
 
“You named your car Chacha?”
 
“It came that way from the dealer. I never changed it.”
 
“Maybe you should.”
 
“Maybe. Right now I just want to settle this estate as quickly as possible. I have a serious negative balance because of the estate taxes and will be charged interest until the inheritance dollars come through. Funny how the Treasury deducts the estimated tax right away before anything is fully settled.”
 
“Yeah, funny. They nailed my account, too. Same reason. The text said my account would be credited with any overpayment at the final settlement but would be further tapped for any underpayment.”
 
Forty minutes later the car pulled to the side of the road. “Auto-drive disengaged,” Chacha said.
 
“Chacha, is something wrong with auto-drive?” Lukas asked.
 
“No. The rest of the trip is unmapped,” Chacha’s information center explained. “Tree cover prevents aerial view navigation. I can proceed based on Auto-Vision if you wish to override safety protocols, but I will have to notify the insurance company. Destination is 11 kilometers NNE. Override?”
 
“No Chacha, I’ll take it from here.” Said Lukas to Aliz, “The Will mentioned something about a private right-of-way access instead of a public road.”
 
“How is your manual driving?” Aliz asked.
 
“OK, I guess. They say it’s like riding a bike.”
 
“Do you ride bikes?”
 
“No. I guess that dirt driveway on the right is the way,” Lukas said. He gingerly put the car in drive and carefully made the turn. The canopy from the trees on each side indeed completely hid the lane from above. The GPS display showed the car to be moving toward the end coordinates. The afternoon sun flickered through the leaves above and played on the hood. Collision warning lights on the dashboard lit up at every bend in the lane as the grill briefly pointed at trees.
 
“You weren’t kidding about the recluse thing,” Aliz said.
 
“Apparently not.”
 
They exited the woods and entered a clearing where their great uncle’s weekend home stood. He pulled up to the front porch, which was elevated two steps above the lawn. The lawn didn’t need cutting. Lukas suspected a robot mower tended the grass as some preset interval.
 
“Arrived at destination,” Chacha announced.
 
The house looked modest but homey. The cedar clapboard siding was weathered but not in disrepair. The roof and windows looked tight.  Solar panels covered the roof of a detached garage and a freestanding windmill spun next to it.
 
“At least there is power,” said Lukas. “I was beginning to wonder.”
 
“Me, too. I actually received a mechanical key from a delivery drone,” Aliz said. “You?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Weird.”
 
Lukas and Aliz got out of the car and climbed the porch steps. Aliz slid the drone-delivered key in the front door lock.
 
“It doesn’t fit,” she said.
 
“Try mine.”
 
“Nope. Won’t budge.”
 
“Wait, what’s this?” Lukas pointed to a steel box to the left of the door.
 
“It looks like one of those antique milk boxes some people like to display.”
 
Lukas examined it. “It’s bolted to the floor and the lid won’t open – but there is a key slot on the side.” He inserted his key. It turned easily. Inside were three more keys and a note. He unfolded it.
 
“What’s it say?” Aliz asked.
 
“’Lock ALL electronic devices in box.’”
 
“OK, phones in the box,” she said.
 
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said.
 
“Let’s do it anyway.”
 
“I think there is power connected to the box. There is something like a faraday cage embedded in it.”
 
“Lukas…”
 
“Yeah OK.”
 
He put his phone in the box. Liz did the same. He removed the keys and snapped the lid shut. Lukas tried a key on the front door. Nothing. The second one slid into the slot and turned smoothly. He turned the knob. The door swung inward. They entered a small foyer. They looked about.
 
Plank floors and pine paneled walls created a woodsy feel. The ceilings were painted a light green. A dining room was to right of the foyer, a living room left, the kitchen was in back to the right with an arch to the dining room, while a bath and the primary bedroom and were in the back left. In addition, a stairway from the foyer led to an open balcony loft, the cabin’s version of a guest bedroom. The dining room walls had shelves with paper and ink books, and so doubled as a library. The kitchen had had tile floors and backsplashes on butcher-block counters. The place was dusty but in no way grimy.
 
“This is it?” asked Aliz. “I mean it’s pleasant and all, but I was expecting…I don’t know…more. Plus, there’s no TV and I don’t see any wifi router.”
 
“I guess he went to his car if he needed a connection.”
 
“I guess.”
 
“There must be a basement for the basic utilities: well pump, water heater, battery storage, and all that.”
 
“Basement stairs must be under the stairs to the loft then. Here.” She tried a door she at first had mistaken for a closet. “Locked. Give me those keys.” The first one she tried opened the door.
 
The basement indeed had the utilities. It also had a wet bar and small pool table. Among the stock behind the bar were high proof spirits that had been outlawed by the Health Act of two years earlier. Aliz continued to nose around.
 
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Lukas asked.
 
“A third key slot”
 
“There’s another lockbox under the bar,” he said.
 
The third key opened it for Aliz. Inside was a note with a rectangular diagram, an X along one side, and the numbers 36945.
 
“What does that mean?” she wondered aloud.
 
“Is it a barebones diagram of this room? The X would be there on that wall or there on the other depending on how you hold the paper.”
 
“Let’s try the paneled wall. The other one is bare concrete.”
 
Unlike the paneling upstairs, the wall down here was plywood.
 
“This panel seems shaky,” she said.
 
She inserted her fingernails into the edge and pulled lightly. The panel pulled away. It had been held in place by magnets. Behind it was a steel door with an old-fashioned mechanical combination lock.
 
“I hope there is not another note in there,” Lukas said. “Are the numbers the combination? One single digit and two double digits. Or three singles and a double?”
 
“Worth a try. I guess we just plow through the possibilities.”
 
Aliz spun the tumbler. 36 9 45 did the trick. The lock audibly clicked and the lever handle turned.
 
“Shit. Uncle Bertram,” said Aliz. “Gold.”
 
“Gold?”
 
“1 ounce coins. There must be thousands of them. Are we rich? I never had a reason to keep up with gold prices.”
 
“Those are worth millions,” said Lukas. “And I don’t mean dollars. I mean real money. I’m guessing 100,000,000 Swiss Francs. We have to be careful about this though. If Uncle Bertram didn’t mention this in the Will – and he didn’t – he might not have mentioned it to the IRS. They could take most of it. Or all of it. And if we don’t mention it, we can only spend the coins person to person: real people – actual shop owners and such – not machines or AIs. We can’t deposit anything. How do you feel about that? Should we report this or not?”
 
“Uncle Bertram wanted us to have this, didn’t he? Not the IRS.”
 
“True.”
 
“I think it would be disrespectful of his wishes for us not to keep it then. The tax AIs can simply not know about it as far as I’m concerned. Can you keep a secret?” asked Aliz.
 
“I can.”
 
Aliz locked the safe and snapped the wall panel back on the magnets.
 
“I’m going to enjoy spending weekends here,” she said.
 
“Me too.”
 
“We’ll work out a schedule. Alternate weekends or something.”
 
They walked back upstairs working out details of dividing the coins and property. They exited the front door and retrieved their phones from the lockbox.
 
The doors to the car opened as they approached. They got into their seats without thinking about it. It was just something the car did. Had it been parked somewhere else, he could have called its name, and it would have unparked itself and driven to the porch to pick them up.
 
“Chacha, start motor.”
 
Instantly the car’s information center lit up. The following scrolled on the screen as the speakers repeated it aloud: “As an adjustment to your estate taxes, 40,000,000 Swiss Francs at current exchange rates have been deducted from each of your credit accounts for your convenience. This includes surcharge for non-digital assets. An additional surcharge of 10,000,000 each for social discredit also has been deducted since our algorithm has determined an intention to avoid paying your fair share of taxes. Your rights are important to us, however, so you may appeal these assessments at your individual my.gov accounts, though there may be additional fees if your appeal is determined to be without merit.”
 
“How?” Aliz asked. “We weren’t connected to the net.”
 
Lukas had a sinking feeling. He reached in his pocket and withdrew the key fob for the car. Chacha was always listening so it could fetch him whenever he called.