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\title{Death with Dignity}
\author{David Golombek}
\date{\today}

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It hit me while I was in the shower yesterday.  First I'm thinking
about the golden days of my youth as a hotshot programmer, then I'm
thinking that the distribution of drops across the tiles is a lot like
the database query and search patterns we need at work for our new
program.  With a bit of modeling and targeting, this method could
reduce our search time by a good ten percent, maybe more.  The thing
is, insights like that aren't supposed to come to me now.  I'm
supposed to be past my prime, a washout, an old hulk too far behind
the times to contribute anything new to my company.  I turn sixty on
Monday, I die on Monday.

The Thompson Laws originated just before I was born.  Medical
technology had just cured cancer and AIDS, safety technology was
cutting accident related deaths sharply, and there hadn't been a war
in several years thanks to the new world government.  With these
advances, the death rate had fallen to near zero, and world population
was skyrocketing.  In first world countries, life-expectancy was
passing one hundred and average age over sixty; in third world countries,
life-expectancy was quickly increasing to almost fifty, but average
age was still fifteen.  Worldwide, birth rates were on the rise
again.  Hydroponic farming and gene-tailored crops had increased food
production greatly, but there was too little food to go around.
Something needed to be done, and for once technology wasn't providing
a solution.

It started as the Thompson Plan when Fredrick Thompson first suggested
it in 2031, and it was universally denounced as one of the most
inhumane solutions ever proposed.  In fact, it ruined his career, and
Fredrick disappeared into the depths, never to be heard from again.
But his plan stayed behind, lurking as a solution for those desperate
enough to consider it.  The Thompson Plan proposed placing a valuation
on every person, based upon his contributions to society, and from
this valuation judging how long he deserved to live, with
reevaluations every decade thereafter.  Everyone would be granted up
to age twenty to teach and train himself, at which point he would be
judged by an independent council and granted additional years of life
depending upon his worthiness.  Of course, the logistics and valuation
scale were horrendous, and the concept of killing of members of
society inhumane, and the Thompson Plan was was ignored for ten years,
years in which no other solutions were found, and the problems got
worse.

Eventually the plan was adopted, formally becoming the Thompson Laws
of 2041.  Anyone already passed the age of ten was exempt, to give
people a ``fair chance'' to prepare themselves.  The well-to-do
immediately made sure their children participated in all those
activities that would make their valuation highest, and
loophole-lawyers examined all the clauses for easy ways out of doing
real work to survive.  Slowly, things started to get better.  People
suddenly had real incentive to do work, and parents began to have
fewer children, rather than watch as children were taken away at age
twenty-one, having been judged unworthy of further life.  There was
continual argument over the relative valuations of various
contributions to society, of course, but people could see enough
improvements to keep them quiet.

I've loved computers all my life, and have always gotten a rush from
interfacing with a computer and getting the brain augmentation they
can provide.  I did well in college and got a job immediately after
graduation, coding away for a large company.  I did well at work too,
and the company rewarded me appropriately.  My first societal
contribution evaluation, or ``SocEv'' as they were called, went well,
and I was granted another ten years of life, till the next evaluation.
I developed a taste for expensive food, fancy parties, and rich
friends, and continually lived a bit beyond my means, counting on
another raise to keep me even.  I was young, I was immortal, and when
I plugged into a computer my thoughts flowed clearly, my structures
and code elegantly forming into working programs.

In the back of my head, I knew my success couldn't last, that I could
only stay at my peak for a limited amount of time, that new hotshots
would come along and bump me out of my position eventually.  Every
year new, faster human-computer interfaces come out, and my mind is
just too set in its ways to fully adapt to the constantly changing
paradigms.  I denied it, of course, pretending that I was inherently
better than all the other coders, that no matter how old I got I'd
still be the best.  Sooner or later my boss would realize that other,
younger coders were doing my job better than I, and my job importance
rating, crucial to my overall SocEv score, would drop drastically.  

I kept these thoughts in the back of my head, and it was only when my
ego led to the failure of a project that it all hit me, how slow I was
thinking compared to some, how out of date my interface was, and how
much faster the new interfaces were, the models I couldn't use.  I
covered up that failure well, and passed my thirtieth and fourtieth
birthday SocEvs with flying colors.  Life was still good, but doubts
were entering my mind.  I realized that my experience and private code
libraries didn't help me out enough, that I was now slower than the
new bunch of young hotshots with the newest computer interfaces, and
when my boss realized this too, then out the door I'd go.  

Somehow I bluffed my way through the next ten years, working more on
the managerial side of projects, but people noticed, especially the
hungry young programmers under me.  The board for my next SocEv knew
this, as they always seemed to know everything, and although they
granted me ten more years, they denied me another review at the end.
Despite knowing it was coming, I was still shocked, and I vaguely
remember getting very drunk over the next week.  I'd been taught about
the Thompson Laws all my life, how neccessary they were to maintain
stability and law in our world, but it still shocked me to have a date
placed on my death.  Eventually I went back to work, but it was never
the same, I'd lost any spark still left, and my bosses kept me around
just to drag the last of my knowledge out of me.  At fifty-two I was
layed off, everyone having decided I was entirely washed up.  Besides,
might as well get me out the door early, to make sure I didn't have
any projects abruptly cut off later down the line.

Since then I've been living off my savings, using all the money I
saved from working constantly for so many years.  I've traveled,
relaxed, and caught up on sleep.  But my life has been empty; I
haven't touched a computer, nor found any other meaning to my life.  I
was looking forward to a release from this boredom, to keep me from
slowly descending into senility.  I got a message from the Retirement
Center a month ago.  Please report to the Boston Retirement Center on
September 23, make sure to put all personal affairs in order
beforehand.  Failure to comply is a federal offense, punishable by
death.  Like it mattered.  Die, die, die.  One way or another, who
cares.

But with my thought in the shower yesterday, my mind has been
reinvigorated.  Gone is the apathy, the inferiority complex that had
built up, the feeling that I was completely out of my depth, that I
was washed out.  If my mind can think up something like this, I can
still contribute a lot to the field.  Once again, I want to live, to
contribute to my field and profession.  Of course, it doesn't really
matter, I still die Monday, but I want to die with dignity.

I must admit that I jumped out of the shower very quickly after the
thought hit me yesterday.  Four days before I'm scheduled to show up
at the Retirement Home.  I spent yesterday afternoon collecting my
thoughts on the algorithm and testing out some models I put together.
As I had immediately suspected, the splattering drops of water had a
very nice combination of orderliness and chaos combined in their
patterns.  The initial impact was orderly and precise, easily modeled,
but the expanding circle of splattering drops was determined by
chaotic variables, different every time a drop landed.  This same
model when applied to our database searches, of doing a comprehensive
query exactly on the subject needed, then doing random searches around
it, led to a data model that was exactly what we had been looking for,
in far faster time than the purely random or completely methodical
searches we had used earlier.  It doesn't matter that I've been away
from the company for a couple years', I know this solution still
applies, and I know the company will always be happy to release a new
version of their program.

Now it's time to go back to my company, talk to them, show them what
I've done.  The company network still accepts me as a user, I guess
they still trust me to some degree.  Lots of new faces in my group,
lots of hotshots with fancy new avatars, but they're all still working
on the same project as when I left.  The model of our program has
changed a lot since I was last here, having grown much larger now,
with several changes to its overall appearance.  The program is shaped
like a large jellyfish, the main body with its many different
components hanging off.  Each of the tentacles is actually a large
mesh of interconnected components, each of which you can examine to
see more details, eventually looking directly at the code.  It's a
beautiful model, wonderfully modularized, clean and elegant.  I still
remember designing it, planning out this general model, long before
the coding ever began.

The current boss is surprised to see me, more surprised to find that
I'm actually trying to contribute to the project once again.  He was
the newest superstar at the company when I left, I guess he stayed
that way and moved into management.  Not surprisingly, he's very
receptive to my offers of help, and gives me a separate copy of the
code to work on, with a promise of merging in my changes if they
indeed prove worthwhile.  Luckily, my change doesn't need to be very
widespread, because changing more than a tiny portion of the project
takes far longer than I've got.  As is, I'm going to be rushed to
implement my changes on time.  I'm sure someone else could finish off
the task if I can't do it in 3 days, but I want this to be my fix all
the way through.  Personal pride.  Do one last hacking fest before my
time is up.

The next three days are a blur.  I remember eating a bit, sleeping a
very small bit, walking around every couple hours, but I'm coding for
a majority of the time.  I'm in the groove, my structures come pouring
out, my algorithm flows together, the model is slowly reshaped in the
area I'm working on.  My preliminary models were accurate, even before
I finish all of my tuning, I begin to see very noticeable speed
improvements, where the chaotic search patterns bring in information
faster than any methodical search would.  

It takes the full three days to get my code fully running and tested,
three days of constant modifications to my strategy to get the last
bit of speed out of my algorithm.  And it's worth all the effort ---
when I'm done, some searches take fifteen percent less time than
before.  It's nice to be a legend again; even before I'm done, I can
see the other programmers coming over to check out my code, to see how
I've gotten so much done so quickly.  

I finish sometime early Monday morning.  My last day on this planet.
It's a beautiful day, the first sun I've seen since going into my
hacking trance.  No reason to try and catch up on sleep, but a nice
last meal is mandatory.  The company even springs for it, a brunch at
the fanciest restaurant in town.  I'm too hungry to fully appreciate
the food, and still too zoned to care.  My hacking trance is just a
state of utter concentration, driving all thoughts out of my mind not
directly related to the code, filling my mind with all the details of
the code that I can handle.  

All that's left now is to go to the Retirement Home.  No rush to get
there, take a leisurely stroll through downtown, enjoy the sunshine,
hear the people chatting.  Eventually the time comes for my
appointment, and I must head over.  It's a big building, very somber,
made of dark marble.  I've never looked at the building in detail
before; it's one of those places you try to avert your eyes from
normally.  I can feel the aura of death around it, the hundreds of
people who die there daily.  That's why it's located here in downtown
--- a very silent reminder that your time is measured, and running out
quickly.

The Retirement Home is busy today, I guess there must be lots of
people slated to die today.  Some of them aren't particularly happy
about it; I don't care anymore.  No growing old, feeble-minded, weak,
for me.  I'm still in top form, capable of coding as well as ever, as
good as any of the kids coming out of school these days.  My laurels
shall remain fresh, my glory days remembered when I'm gone.  Some of
the others here haven't come to grips with death yet.  There's a
fellow being wheeled in by the cops, restrained in a straightjacket,
still screaming; you can try to hide from the authorities, but it's
mighty hard these days.  And another fellow, weeping with his family,
trying to remember the right things to say.

One step further, the nurse moves me from the waiting room into an
office.  Gone are all the distractions, I suppose this is to calm
patients down, don't want to make it more difficult than need be.
You'd figure after all these years they'd figure out an easier way of
killing people off, but it's still a simple injection.  Of course,
much faster, less painful than the old poisons, but still not much.
Now the nurse is gone, just me alone again.  Waiting.  Time is slowing
now, trying to stretch out the few remaining minutes.

And now it's time.  The doctor has come in, he's saying something,
smiling kindly, preparing himself.  The room is nice and quiet, a
pastoral tune wafting through the speakers.  I can see my
fully modeled algorithm floating through the air.  I can see the code
analysis showing the speedup.  I can see respect on my boss's face.
Life has been good, and I have dignity in death.

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