81

Introductory Text

81st Post

Posted 9 June 2016 at 08:57:41 UTC

Link to original

> Right now, the car is headed silent down the highway. It's dark, and there is nobody driving. I snuggle up in my seat and listen to the hum of its parts. I have turned my set off. It shows nothing but reports of destruction and plagues. The world on fire. The world gone mad.
>
>
> Most of the interstates have shut down. They want people to stay in one place. The car is moving along the back roads, switching from one lonely little highway to another. We are headed towards the answer, towards the key to defeating Q. I hope we get there fast.
>
>
> Slowly, the sky pales, and the blue curves of the mountains emerge from the darkness beyond the guardrails. I heard once that the Appalachians used to be as high as the Himalayas. Looking at the sloping hills under the sky, I can sense the ancient shape of the world. A world that was here before us.
>
>
> Man, I'm getting pretty philosophical.
>
>
> In my mind, another shape appears. Massive. Continental. The slope of human decline. The awful descent of the human race into...
>
>
> Christ. Let's just enjoy the pretty mountains.
>
>
> Karen is lying in the back. She's doing another eye treatment with equipment we took from the hospital. Before we reach Plattsburgh, the car switches highways and heads west. The sun climbs higher. We are getting closer.
>
>
> Eventually, the car turns onto an unpaved road. After few minutes, it slows to a stop. And here we are. I look around. It's a nice bit of country scenery -- grass and trees and gentle hills and blue sky and pretty much fuck all. There is nothing here. Or whatever is here, is hidden.
>
>
> Karen is still doing the eye treatment in the darkness of the van's rear. The light from the goggles seeps out in little flashes, sketching the shape of her face. Finally, the goggles turn green, and she pulls them off, blinking and squinting.
>
>
> I go and help her sit up. "Can you see a little better?" I ask.
>
>
> She looks down at her hands, moving the fingers slowly in the dark. "Yeah."
>
>
> "Persistent shapes?"
>
>
> She raises her hand into a shaft of sunlight shining in from the front of the van. Her fingers catch the glow. "My hands," she says softly, her voice quavering with disbelief. It's the first strong emotion I've ever heard from her.
>
>
> "Good. That's great," I say. "Well... we're here. What do we do now?"
>
>
> She looks at me and smiles maniacally. "We go into the forest," she says. Her smile is unnatural and stiff, more of a grimace than a smile, but for a brief moment, as it first spreads across her face, she looks like a giddy little kid. "The key is there," she says.
>
>
> "What is it? Some kind of secret underground base? Hidden laboratory?"
>
>
> She makes a groaning sound that I barely recognize as laughter. "You play too many narratives. It's much simpler than that."
>
>
> I unfold a wheelchair that we "borrowed" from the hospital and help her into it. When I open the back doors of the van, she winces against the bright sunlight, and again her face looks like a little kid's for a moment. I give her a pair of huge black wraparound sunglasses that we took eye treatment center.
>
>
> The van lowers to the ground, and I roll the wheelchair out onto the dusty road. She makes sure I take a bag of supplies with us -- snacks and drinks and other stuff. The sun is warm on my skin, but the breeze is fresh and cool. It's a perfect day. You would think that everything is right in the world.
>
>
> "So where to?" I ask.
>
>
> She looks around, her head wobbling on her thin stalk of a neck, her eyes hidden by the massive glasses. "There was once a house here. Do you see it?"
>
>
> I look around and spy a low, crumbled gray wall mostly hidden behind the high grass. "I think see an old foundation."
>
>
> "That's it, she says. Her eyes are hidden, but there is something in her voice that wasn't there yesterday, a shivery excitement. It makes me excited too. I push the wheelchair down a weedy gravel driveway toward the foundation. There's nothing else left of the house. It must have been torn down and hauled off. Karen has me push her around it and go down a trail leading towards forest.
>
>
> "What was that house?" I ask. "Anything important?"
>
>
> "I used to live there."
>
>
> I turn and give it another look, as if I would see some new detail in the crumbling concrete that I had missed.
>
>
> "That was the old children's home?"
>
>
> "Yep."
>
>
> "Then where are we going?"
>
>
> "We're almost there," she says. "It's close."
>
>
> We follow the trail into the forest. The trees become thick and shadowy. The wheelchair has a little power assist, but it's still tough to push it over all the roots and rocks and that lie along the narrowing, twisting path.
>
>
> "Oh, yes!" Karen whispers excitedly.
>
>
> Up ahead, sunlight gleams through the branches of the crowding trees. A wave of excitement moves through me, and I push Karen faster. We come out into a clearing, a broad patch of wild grass that glows green and golden in the sunlight.
>
>
> "Here," Karen says.
>
>
> I stop the wheelchair and look around. At first glance, there doesn't seem to be anything here.
>
>
> "So what's here?" I ask.
>
>
> "I used to come here as a child... and play make-believe... before I was connected."
>
>
> I take a walk around the clearing, looking for something. A hatch? A hole? An actual key lying in the grass? There is nothing.
>
>
> Across the clearing, Karen is slowly pulling off her sunglasses. When her eyes appear, they startle me. They are wide and gleaming within utter fascination. I walk up to her. She is staring at something. Tears fill the rims of her eyes and spill over. What is she looking at? It seems to be something right in front of her, something I can't see.
>
>
> I stand beside her and crouch so I can see what she is seeing. There is nothing there but a small cloud of gnats. "What are you looking at?" I ask.
>
>
> She looks all around and takes a deep breath and shudders. "There's... more..." she whispers.
>
>
> "More what?"
>
>
> "They said the feeds were complete... but they were wrong."
>
>
> I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't. "What do you mean?" I ask.
>
>
> She looks at me and smiles, the most goofy, crazed smile I've ever seen, tears still flowing down her cheeks. "The designers of the feeds said that it provides a complete experience. Enough colors, enough frames, enough smell gradients, enough complexity to make it indistinguishable from reality... but they were wrong. Here! Look at them!" she says, raising her hand into the air.
>
>
> "You mean... the gnats?"
>
>
> "Yes."
>
>
> The gnats are glowing specks dancing senselessly in the sunlight. I wonder if some pattern will emerge. Can Karen control them with their mind? Is that the secret? Are they forming shapes? But they just dance and dance, forming nothing, making no pattern that I can see. I feel silly for even thinking that they would. They're gnats.
>
>
> I turn away. A flood of angry thoughts rushes through my mind. Gnats? Fucking gnats? She's a nut. She's lost it. Yeah, she's powerful and impressive in the feedrealm, but now she is in the real world, and she has completely lost her shit, and this whole trip has been a waste. "Is there anything here?" I ask. "What's the key? Seriously. Don't give me any of that bullshit like 'I can't explain' or 'You'll see.' Just tell me. What are we doing here. What is the plan?" I ask, almost shouting by the end.
>
>
> The crazed look of joy fades from her face and is replaced by the look of a scolded child. She lets her head hang and wipes the tears from her face with her weak little hands.
>
>
> I feel a bad. I kneel by her chair and say, "I'm sorry. Please, just tell me what your plan is. I need to know now."
>
>
> Karen begins speaking softly without looking up. "Q has base control of every major system in the world. Every drone, every rover, every defense robot, all orbital assets, all nuclear weaponry. She has control over most human political systems. She has destroyed or contained every existing countermeasure, including me. There is no scenario in which we could ever reacquire control. Not with a thousand times our current resources. Not with a thousand years of computation time."
>
>
> "So then what's the plan?"
>
>
> "What we need is a way for Q to be destroyed by just one or a few motivated individuals. I believe there were points in the past when this could have happened. Maybe one of the Germans overseeing the early research program could have stopped it. Maybe it could have been stopped around 2020, when the portals were shut down, and interface research was temporarily abandoned. But it didn't happen. Currently, at this point, there is no way for it to happen. Q has control of far, far too many assets. The war is already lost. Irrevocably."
>
>
> "Then what do we do?"
>
>
> "We must hope that there are alternate timelines and that somebody in one of these timelines foresees what is happening to us right now -- that somebody foresees this very moment in time and takes steps to prevent it."
>
>
> I stare at her. She looks into my eyes. I grope for words. "Is that... Wait... Alternate timelines? Is that the plan? We have to send a message back into the past?"
>
>
> "In a sense."
>
>
> "Then the person who receives this message will destroy Q in the past, and that will save us?"
>
>
> Karen shakes her head slowly. "No. That clearly won't happen or everything would already be different. We are utterly doomed. We'll either be either incinerated in a nuclear strike or rounded up and incorporated into Q. There's no stopping that. The only hope to defeat Q is on some other timeline, if such a thing exists."
>
>
> "There's no hope for us? At all? Then what are we doing here? Why are we in this fucking clearing?"
>
>
> "Haven't you felt it?"
>
>
> "Felt what?"
>
>
> "The feeling that you're inside a narrative."
>
>
> An eerie shiver comes over me. I look around at the clearing. "Like, I'm inside a feed?"
>
>
> "No. Inside a narrative. A story in somebody's mind. Doesn't this all seem just like a story? Two people rushing off to save the world, to find some hidden key in the forest?"
>
>
> "Yeah, it all seems pretty unbelievable."
>
>
> "That's how I wanted it to feel. That's why we came out here. So that we can be inside a story. Now, hopefully, there is somebody out there in the past who will write the story."
>
>
> "Write the story? What? So there's nothing here?"
>
>
> "There's no magic key or secret underground base."
>
>
> "Well this story sucks."
>
>
> "Why?"
>
>
> "It's a huge fucking let-down."
>
>
> Karen makes a mild choking sound that might be a chuckle.
>
>
> I slump down into the grass beside her wheel chair and hang my head. I'm out in the woods with a crazy person. She doesn't even make sense. She's spent too long in 5D. She's talking about alternate timelines. Finally, I ask her, "So we're just fucked, right?"
>
>
> "If you look toward our future, if you look at the series of events which will happen to us, they are dark. They are very awful. We will suffer. We will die. But that would be true in any timeline. On the other hand, if you look at the entire story, not as a series of events, not from beginning to end, but as a single continuous, connected shape, where every event is occurring simultaneously... I think... my life... even my stupid little life, which I spent mostly inside that hygiene bed... could form a beautiful shape."
>
>
> I snort. I'm tired of this cryptic bullshit.
>
>
> Karen goes on. "Maybe that shape reaches back, back to some place where somebody can see it and change things."
>
>
> I don't say anything. Karen reaches into our bag of supplies and pulls out one of the little paper notebooks she bought at the gas station.
>
>
> "What are you doing?" I ask.
>
>
> "I'm going to write a poem. Do you want a notebook?"
>
>
> "What for?"
>
>
> "Maybe there's somebody out there who needs you to write a story."
>
>
> "Who would read it? Isn't everybody going to die?"
>
>
> "Who knows," she says and drops the other notebook into my lap. "Maybe somebody would be interested."
>
>
> I toss the notebook off into the grass. Fucking pointless. I can barely write on paper anyways.
>
>
> We sit in silence for a long time. When I look up, Karen is staring at that same little cloud of gnats, occasionally jotting stuff down. I find myself staring at them too. They look like nothing more than living specks of dust worked into a crazy, whirling frenzy. Is there any pattern in how they move? Would it matter if there was? I think about what Karen said about the shape of her life, what it would look like if everything happened simultaneously, if it could all be seen at once. I think about the shape of my own life. I stare at the gnats and imagine seeing every position of every gnat all at one time. What kind of shape would it make? Even if I could see it, would this shape have any meaning?
>
>
>
> I pick up the notebook and begin to write.
>
>