Post-Human Series Books 1-4 (61 page)

PART 1

1

WAKING UP each day was becoming increasingly difficult. I’d open my eyes with disappointment, struggle to pull my legs over the edge of the bed, crane my neck to look over my shoulder at the sleeping woman I didn’t love, then stand up, walking forth into another day of slow-motion drudgery. I was in this depressed state on the day that I found out the truth:
The world is a lie
.

I perfectly remember standing on a stage in front of a crowd of nearly 200 tech reporters, as my business partner attempted—with gusto
—
to introduce me as though he were introducing a prophet. He actually used the words “oracle” and “visionary,” though I barely paid attention. It was as if there was a soft focus in my life that day, a blur that I’d worked to cultivate. Reality had become...increasingly nauseating.

Nevertheless, I needed to endure. I wasn’t suicidal. Far from it, in fact. I wanted to reach the future so badly. I could see it every time I closed my eyes, but every time I reopened them, the vision disappeared, fading away like wisps of smoke, and all that was left was the horde of meat in front of me
.

Cavemen slapped their hands together in robotic applause as the introduction ended and their “prophet” crossed the stage. Even as I forced a smile and reached the podium, the soft focus continued. Behind me, the words, “Moore’s Law” were projected in a stark white font, glowing on a black background.

“Everyone has been wondering who will make the next big breakthrough in computer processing. What form will it take?” I asked rhetorically. “Today, our team has made the most significant leap thus far in the acceleration of computing speed and capability,” I announced, affecting the cadence of someone who was genuinely enthusiastic. “The next step for Moore’s Law, the exponential increase in the speed and processing power of information technology, is the quantum chip.”

The words behind me faded into an image of a silicon chip, gleaming with CGI photons and the word “Quantum” hovering above it. The assembled media applauded raucously. They’d already read the press release. Though they couldn’t possibly grasp all the implications of the breakthrough, they knew that faster and more powerful technology meant better technology, and so they smacked their meaty paws together approvingly.

I kept to my script. “In the short term, quantum chip integration into existing Smartphone technology will lead to super-secure networks, making banking and online business safer. In the longer term, the quantum chip will lead to computers and tablets that can run programs that even today’s supercomputers are incapable of running.”

The reaction to my pronouncements was, predictably, slack-jawed.

They have eyes to see but do not see
, I thought to myself. “To put this into perspective, a quantum computing device, using only 100 photons, could solve trillions of calculations at the same time.”

Again, the assembled reporters were befuddled, dumbfounded. The impressive sounding numbers that I had quoted meant nothing to them as long as their Smartphones and aug glasses might run more smoothly in the future. There was so much that they couldn’t fathom.

“The consequences of such a breakthrough are innumerable, and you know our lab’s policy on secrecy...” I trailed off to let the scripted joke sink in.

There was a smattering of laughter and grunts in the auditorium. They always scripted a wry joke or two to make me seem more affable for the public.

“But just to give you some idea of what we’re thinking,” I continued, “keep in mind that a device with such advanced hardware would be capable, at least someday, of sensing the world around it and rapidly interpreting what it senses in a way that would mimic human intelligence quite convincingly—and that is only the tip of the iceberg. Now, as is my custom at these events, I will take a few questions.”

Immediately, nearly every reporter in the room jumped to their feet and began shouting questions; in such a small venue, the effect was thunderous. Mark Olson, the deputy director and our chief financial officer, had advised me on numerous occasions to “hold” such moments, realizing they made for compelling theater. In such a scenario, I was the Shamanic figure, stirring up belief amongst my audience. It was not a scenario that I enjoyed. Theater, to me, was nauseating.

My aug glasses flashed the name of the reporter I was predetermined to call on first to answer his predetermined question. The answer I was supposed to give, already meticulously written and perfectly punctuated by an English graduate student from the university, was loaded and ready to unfurl on the minuscule TelePrompTer app on my aug glasses. All I needed to do was read my lines and stick to the script, and my reputation as the world’s foremost inventor and futurist would be further cemented.

I continued to hold and feigned that I was making a random choice.

But then something happened.

The feigning began to transform. Almost before I knew it, I was committed to
actually
choosing someone randomly. For a reason I couldn’t explain, I
needed
to have a choice. To save myself, I needed something real, something challenging.

“How about you?” I said, purposely pointing to someone I didn’t recognize, a plain-looking woman of about thirty-five.

The thunderous roar died down, and all eyes turned to the chosen woman.

She stared up at me, her eyes locking on mine. She seemed surprised and I thought she perhaps knew something was amiss. It was possible she knew that the questions were rigged and that she’d never expected to be chosen. She remained staring at me, unable to speak.

Mark’s picture suddenly appeared in the top right-hand corner of my front screen. The text, “What are you doing? That’s the wrong reporter!” suddenly appeared.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to will the woman to speak. I knew once she opened her mouth, there would be no turning back. I needed her to speak. I couldn’t stomach the idea of answering the scripted question, which concerned why our Center continued to produce the world’s most innovative breakthroughs in information technology. It was vague. Corporate. Boring. A softball. I wanted nothing to do with it.

“Okay,” I said, finally acquiescing. “It seems she might be feeling a little overwhelmed,” I added, smiling.

“Simon from GizBiz!” Mark shouted via text. In reality, he was standing only a few feet behind me, smiling I’m quite sure, not letting on to those assembled that something in our carefully constructed fiction had gone askew.

I turned to Simon, a twenty-something technology writer who’d masterfully achieved the look of an unemployed person living in his parents’ basement. In actuality, he was one of the country’s most respected tech reporters, thanks to his in-law connection to Mark.

Simon looked up at me, his expression befuddled. His eyes briefly darted up to Mark before flashing back to mine.

“Simon,” I began, resignedly, “Why don’t you take a crack at it?”

“Professor,” Simon began, his tone begrudging, as he was clearly trying to shake off the perceived insult of not being initially chosen, “how is it that your lab continues to produce the most innovative products...”

I’d already tuned him out. He finished speaking his question, and there was the answer, overlaid over reality, waiting for me to read it for the crowd. I refused to be a ventriloquist’s dummy. I removed my aug glasses and slipped them into the pocket of my pants so as not to subject myself to the inevitable panicked messages from Mark that would undoubtedly flood the screen. Keeping my hands in my pocket, I turned away from the podium and crossed the front of the stage as I considered what to say. “I wish you could all see,” I began, “the future that
I
see. It’s so much more marvelous than you think. It isn’t just a matter of faster phones and better graphics. It isn’t one that will make you more money. Money won’t even exist.” I briefly turned to regard Mark; though he wore a faux grin, he looked as if he were about to burst a blood vessel in his brain. “Mark doesn’t like to hear me say things like that,” I added.

Everyone laughed, including Mark, though I suspected his laughter took a Herculean effort to force out.

“I’ve
seen
the future,” I continued. “I go there in my mind as often as I can every day. I don’t live here in the present with all of you. I live there, in the future. When we reach it, you’ll understand why. You’ll understand how unbearable the present is to me—to be limited like this, to watch people die from sicknesses that we’ll be able to cure twenty years from now, to watch men and women go to war and die over oil, when energy from solar and plastics built by nanobot molecular assemblers will be abundant by 2040. In the present, we have to watch starvation killing millions of people, when food will be available via download to your replicator. We muddle around blindly on this small rock in a vast ocean of wonders that await our exploration. We’re trapped here like flightless birds, but we will be soaring through the cosmos just decades from now. These are the things that I cannot stand about the present.” I looked up to see the audience perplexed, which was as I expected. “I prefer the future. I serve the future, and for me, it can’t come soon enough.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I imagined stock prices dropping as headlines proclaimed that the CEO of the world’s most innovative technology company had gone insane. It was a brief consideration, for I had no patience for business.

I slipped my aug glasses back out of my pocket and put them back on, then smiled out at the onlookers. “Our philosophy here has always been not to look at the world as it is, but to look at it the way we want it to be, and then to make it that way. That’s how we stay ahead of the competition. It’s how we jettison ourselves to the future. Thank you.”

And with that, I exited stage left to a standing ovation. I suddenly thought of Shakespeare. All the world was, indeed, a stage and I remained a player, despite my ardent efforts to break free.