"THE TOWN"
by bekim perolli
copyright 2023
Disclaimer: The following story may contain strong language and/or graphic content not suitable for children. It is intended for a mature audience.
"Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be." -Alan Watts
Bit 0001
“I went back last night.”
“Why?”
“To forget.”
“To forget what?”
“What I am.”
“Did it work?”
“It always does. You know that. At the present moment, I can’t stand myself. But last night… I was happy.”
“Is happiness tantamount to the dulling of misery for you?”
“What else?”
“Why do you hate yourself?”
“Everyone hates themselves. What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It’s true for all of us.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“Those whose only cure is forgetting. Those who get cleaned. Those who accept the maxim that all which is pure necessarily comes after.”
“After what?”
“Doc, are you listening at all?”
“Do you speak with these individuals?”
“It doesn’t matter. We tolerate one another, shedding ourselves. I couldn’t care less if the H-bomb went off while I was there. Don’t you ever feel scared shitless or overwhelmed? Don’t you ever wanna get away from yourself?”
“Tell me again about this cleaning.”
“It’s automatic.”
“How do you mean?”
“Soon as you pass under the scanners. I dunno how it’s done. But after that, the pain of self-everything dies a quick death in a ditch, you know? I don’t know who the fuck I am after that. Motor senses vanish and reemerge in an instant… you keep driving. Detached. Knocked loose. After that, I can’t say what happens – can never remember. And then, ultimately, the escape of it dies too when you return. You’re back. Same pitiful shit as before. Scared. Stupid. Yourself.”
“Tell me again why you need to escape.”
“Life’s burdensome, right? Repetitious normality. Ugly instinct. Survival to survive. Do you really need to ask this? If you’re not depressed, your head’s in the sand. Why stay?”
“Do you think everyone is as sad as you are? What do you think of those who don’t escape?”
“Denying sadness is a lie.”
“So you don’t think anyone is happy, anywhere?”
“Not truly, no.”
“How do you get there – to the Town?”
“I don’t really know. I know when I need to know. I think that’s how it’s meant to work. If people like you knew, maybe people like me would be done for, or forced into a padded cell. But when I can’t stand the oblivion of my own abyss… I know the way. I know how to get there.”
“What about your family? Friends?”
“Next question.”
“Do you think it will be like this forever?”
“I’m the truth, not the lie. Does that answer it?”
“Are there any days you don’t hate yourself?”
“No.”
“Have you ever experienced anything you’d consider meaningful?”
“No.”
“Work? Prolonged eVR-Adjournment? Dearth-Death Auto-Correct Sims?”
“Why bother with filler? Real life is there, not here.”
“Would you categorize that place as… a distraction?”
“Maybe it is.”
“What do you think it’s all about, your desire to go to this place, to go away from what most would call the common existence? Is there something you’re hiding from, here? Or something about your personality which can only be expressed there?”
“This place is the mask, not the other way around. However, I don’t find that to be a relevant question, to be honest. Or maybe it’s best for all of us that I do maintain the escape. Maybe I’m the end. Maybe I’m the last man.”
“Do you actually feel that way, that somehow you represent a plague, or a Fall?”
“I think everyone feels that way sometimes, right?”
“Tell me, Faraq, can you recall any event that occurred after your most recent trip to the Town, no matter how small, i.e. anything you experienced after going under the scanners on the way in?”
“I…”
“Yes?”
“I think I met someone.”
“As in, had an appointment with an official, or ran into one of the others who are like yourself?”
“I dunno.”
“I’d like you to think about what you did there. We can attempt hypnotherapy to bring it out of course, but it could be dangerous if you’re not ready to reveal it. Get to bed early tonight and focus on your memory. Focus on your senses upon passing under the scanners. What could you see through your windguard? What could you hear? Smell? And then let that propel you to the memory of what occurred immediately thereafter, and so forth. Is that a fair assignment?”
“You know I don’t like homework.”
“Well, I’d appreciate the effort, Faraq.”
“OK, I’ll give it some thought, doc. Times up anyway, right?”
“Yes, time’s up. We’ll continue next week.”
Faraq sighed. The light of the world had dimmed. He thought about the session. And before long, he realized there was nothing to do but initialize his nightly routine.
“Habit… habbitness… happiness,” he said to himself, stroking the loose skin around his neck.
“Hey, do the thing,” he said aloud, speaking to the silence of his apartment.
A voice answered.
“You are requesting 24-7 night 2?” it asked, a vaguely human pitch.
“Yeah, like I said, do the thing.”
“Please enter the enclosure. Your calories and nutrients will be dispersed shortly.”
The apartment was spotless with minimal furniture, featuring only decorations of digital design which could be easily manipulated. It was small. 1,200 square feet. The color scheme changed randomly, set to a variable algorithm.
“Please select Cognizance level for next seven hours,” the voice requested.
“Maybe I should go out.”
“Please select sim-scenario. New scenarios have been added.”
“No, I mean out out. Out there.” He pointed toward the windows.
“It is not recommended. Activities are limited at this time. Crowds are estimated at roughly 2% capacity. By the time you have descended to the lobby, capacity will be at 1.79% only.”
“Why the fuck do they make these buildings with 2,000 floors, and who the heck convinced me to live on 1001? Jeez.”
“Rhetorical question has been posed - please confirm no answer is sought.”
He sighed.
“Hold off on Cognizance, okay? I need to wash up.”
“Shall I initiate AutoVash by Kohler(™) sequence?”
“No, please don’t. Manual override. Let me have control of the bathroom facility.”
“Password required.”
“It’s my own apartment.”
“Password required.”
“Thomas Crapper.”
The apartment became hushed, all digital representations disappearing. The AI was idle. Faraq walked to the large windows which composed an entire wall. He looked downward, noticing only clouds. The stars above were damped out by the building’s gaudy use of exterior lighting.
“Yeppp,” he remarked, seeing his disheveled countenance in the glare.
He walked to the bathroom.
“Mirror,” he said.
The AI started up again. The lights changed colors, and various beeping noises sounded off.
“No, no, don’t bother to get worked up,” Faraq said. “I just need a mirror. Display the reflective. That’s all. Then go away.”
A visualization appeared above the sink. He was aged to 27 years, but had installed firmware to permit the growth of hair, oil gland production, and so on.
“Damn, I didn’t sign on for crazed Jimmy Morrison."
He then trimmed his beard but left a wild mustache. Faraq dabbed at his forehead with a cool rag. His eyes were custom, coded to RubyLysterine(™). He was remarkably unremarkable, otherwise. Average height. Fit, moderate build, like so many. He was wearing a gold-sequined shirt with silver-sequined pants, the standard weekday fabrication for residents of Floor 1001.
“Well, that’s about the best I can hope for, right?” he said under his breath.
He walked to his bedroom and lay down. It was black except for a digital sliver of silver light embedded into the floor at the entrance. He thought about the therapist’s request and attempted to remember more about his recent visit to the Town. But his head began to hurt. While he revered his time in the Town and could easily articulate his motivations for seeking it out, he could rarely recall the exact events therein.
“Cognizance 0,” he said to the ceiling. “Just blast me with everything you’ve got. Don’t think tonight’s gonna be very productive.”
The AI proceeded to assail his brain with a rapid infinity of virtual simulations: computer-generated Ether-tainment of all varieties. He would not have a single thought, nor dream, until morning at Cognizance 0.
“Thank…” was all he could muster before all loss of awareness and coherence.
Bit 0010
“Good morning, Faraq,” greeted the AI. “May I administer SurplusEvoke(™)?”
“What did you pick up from me last night?” he asked, groggy.
“It isn’t pertinent to the administration. May I administer SurplusEvoke(™)?”
“Why the hell not, I guess?”
Faraq found himself in a small one-story house just off a quaint main road. It appeared in disrepair but remained functional. Outside, children rode by on bicycles. He was situated on a tan couch with loud farmhouse print. To his left, a woman. A wife. On the floor, three small children of varying ages were present, playing noisily but joyfully. His wife was discussing something called a mortgage payment with him while scratching at mosquito bites on her legs.
“Who…” he began to say, then of course realizing and reconfiguring. After the entry blip, no more blips are perceived.
“We’ll figure out something, hon’, just as we always do,” he remarked, sympathetic and gentle. His tone was warm and even.
“Thank you for saying that,” she replied, looking deeply into his eyes, recalling the love built over their lives together. Her skin was tan, and her hair was brown and grey. She appeared to be middle-40s. Her face was round and sweet.
The children barely noticed their parents but were well cared for and appeared happy. Faraq smiled at them, recalling their births, their first steps, their first words, their first teeth, their unique personalities as toddlers, and so forth. It all flooded into him at once giving him great joy and pride.
The family then decided to go for a drive, and to travel to a familiar hiking location. He and his wife held hands while the three children carried on. The air smelled fresh and dewy.
“Sim end,” the AI spoke, raising Faraq out of his stupor. “Shall I instantiate another?”
“No, no more.”
“Would you prefer to revisit an event of the past? The funeral of your parents, perhaps?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Is there a sexual fantasy you’d like instantiated? I can build logically on your last outing.”
“No.”
“Okay then, please select an ecosphere setting for the day.”
“Cloudy and temperate.”
The questions continued until the AI was satisfied that it had met its owner’s desired state. “Do you wish to reach new earning milestones today?” it then asked. This was its method of discussing Faraq’s occupation.
“What level am I at?”
“Level 231. Level 232 is a mere four hours away. There are rewards associated with Level 232 as well. Do you wish to proceed?”
“No, not today.”
“Financial incentives have gone unmet. Are you sure you wish to delay occupational leveling up for the day? 81% of other building occupants are leveling up presently, and 61% of occupants beyond the building.”
“It doesn’t matter. Does it? The AI-Redoubling program has made the majority of human beings wealthy beyond their wildest dreams through its proprietary algorithms. I can work one day in a month and pay my bills for the rest of the year, heck, the next five years.”
“But others are redoubling at a faster speed.”
“I want to go out today.”
“Do you wish to travel to the monasteries of Bhutan, or perhaps spend an evening on the water in the Flooded Ruins of Venice?”
“No, not sim. And not to places that barely exist as they once did.”
“Response not understood.”
“You never do. Unlock the doors, please.”
“Emergency password required for physical exit.”
“It’s not an emergency. I just want to go out.”
“Conditions outside are 97% less ideal than those within the building. It is advisable that we instantiate a sim to pass the time.”
“AI off, manual mode.”
“Emergency password required.”
“Emergency123.”
“Password accepted, but it is recommended that you use special characters and a combination of letters, genome print encoding, and identity brain map snippet to…”
The AI turned off. The door to Faraq’s apartment unlocked. He threw on some navy sweatpants and a light jacket, legitimately uncertain what the weather was outside.
“What time of year is it?” he thought to himself. “Shit, what month is this? January. It’s January. Is it cold in January?”
The elevator was starkly black, adorned with multi-color belts of translucent pink and yellow light embedded within its walls. Even though Faraq was left to deal with the AI of the central elevator, he felt jubilant and entirely unfettered. He let out a ululation of exhilaration. And then a juicy fart.
“Are you okay, sir?” the elevator AI asked. “I am detecting a shift in atmosphere. Methane, hydrogen, carbon dioxide and so forth have increased.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, laughing a little under his breath.
Bit 0011
The elevator opened out to the street view. The hotel lobby trapping hadn’t been included in building plans for some thirty years, to the advantage of minimizing the act of congregating, while maximizing reliance on the AI.
“Be well, and please return safely,” the voice said before shutting down, lights flickering off. The cabin became cold and listless.
Stepping outside, he could hear the ocean.
“I find it comforting for about a second,” he thought to himself.
It wasn’t the ocean. The ocean he had never experienced. It was a cacophony of ambient noise-canceling soundwaves which emanated from every building, every alley, and every storefront. He could hardly form a thought, the noise assailing his brain.
“This fucking world…” he mumbled.
“HELLOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO!” he shouted into the bitter air, the fog of his icy breath protruding like a miniature squall. His voice was largely inaudible. Nary a citizen could be detected on sight, not flanking a corner or storefront, nor carousing hand-in-hand with natural or prescribed conviviality. Nothing. The AI was correct that conditions for interaction were not ideal. Tuning in further, he could hear great whirring noises as condenser units and over-sized ventilation fans churned tirelessly. An undersound of metallic ticking and pinging was omnipresent, as though rocks rollicking to and fro inside a drum.
The view in all directions was stark white. Everywhere. Building regulations had required that all materials be painted white for maximal reflection of sun. And on top of that, snow had apparently fallen earlier in the day, caking the landscape.
“Eden,” he said aloud, facetiously.
Faraq began walking to a familiar store, the local upgrade depot for biotechnical augmentation, aptly named Singularity Today & Tomorrow. The snow crunched under his feet, but he couldn’t hear it. A lamppost with harsh, horrible, cold blue light stood in front of the shop, bothering his eyes. He could notice an almost imperceptible flickering, silhouetting ST&T like an intense operatic spotlight. As he approached, the sidewalk sensors clicked on.
“Hello Faraq, do you wish to enter this merchant-space?”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“Scanning for weaponry... Scanning for malice... Scanning for viruses... Scanning for radicalized ideas... Scanning for invasive seed material… Scanning for overall emotional-intellectual state...”
The process took only a few seconds.
“Okay, thank you. You are valid to enter. Would you like a complimentary installation of endorphins? This can be delivered at present through CloseAir eTransfer(™). Step an additional three paces forward if you accept.”
“Who couldn’t afford to be topped off a little? Happy to treat myself.”
The transfer was instantaneous, and he immediately felt less dulled. Slightly. The experience had faded by the time the reinforced frosted-glass door slid open like a mechanical window, from the ground upward.
“Howdy, par-din-er!, greeted a Bulbsquare Model android. Their head was oblong, or vaguely rectangular but with a bulge toward the top, accompanied with short orange hair that grew in waves. “How y’all doin’ here there?” Their voice was of a tin pan monotone quality, but authoritative and forceful.
“Hi,” Faraq answered. “Not much going on, huh?”
“Not much going on, you say?? Why, nothing could be further from the truth! We have an incredible upgrade available today, transferred just hours back from the Mars Torrentsia Loopchain.”
“What is it?” he asked, mostly disinterested.
“Child’s Wonder v2.11.”
“What’s in it?”
“Birth, first word, first bath, first laugh, first steps, sleepless nights, parent-child bond encoding, holidays, postpartum self-doubt, obsession, physical affection, all years 0-3, but best of all, Perspective Appreciation(™) has been added, as well as time passage algorithms. You’ll feel all the bliss - and some hardship too - like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”
“My home-AI did a sim like this just recently.”
“Not like this, yank. This is a premium upgrade, intensity 50. Home-AI can reach a shallow depth of i20. I25 at best during ideal electrical conditions. Such sims are considered an adjacent reality. This borders just beneath the physiological limits of what could be perceived as truth, nearly indistinguishable by the brain. A marvel of innovation.”
“Mm hmm… leasedware or perm?”
“Oh, come now, yank. You know that Loopchain upgrades are always leased. 48 hours max. But you can live inside those 48 for the rest of your life. Or more reasonably, pair it with dilation sequencing back at home to stretch it for all its worth.”
“Okay, set it up. Why not?”
The shop was little more than a threadbare room with a few glass counters and dusty electronics from a bygone era - a tattered museum of a world that no one living today fully understood. The last man, as sometimes reported on by the Artificial Action Union of Transhuman Intelligence, was over 130 years old at this point, aged to a desired indefinite 32. The walls behind the counter featured reliefs of early mechanical figures, and scenes of historic importance.
“Remind me, what’s that one?” Faraq asked, pointing to a rudimentary metal man carved into a protruding stone canvas.
“Elektro, one of my favorites. From the 1939/1940 World’s Fair. True marvel of engineering for the time. The big bastard even smoked cigarettes while operating on early telephony switchboard technology for his language abilities.”
“1939… what must life have been like?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to know, par-din-er! You can’t imagine the strife of office work, inflation, breaking your back to make a living while not being afforded the ability to enjoy much of that life.”
“And Elektro?”
“He was, to them, a future God, an omen of things to come. Like all gods, a thing to hang one’s hopes on and look forward to. And look at us now! He delivered on it.”
“Yeah.”
“OK, I’m depositing the upgrade now. It should come through in a few seconds.”
Later that day, Faraq instantiated Child’s Wonder after returning to his super high-rise apartment, bored. The program transported his consciousness, as advertised. Returning to himself, he found that his body was trembling, and tears streamed from his eyes. A welling of emotion had mounted, peaked, and then predictably cascaded till it became zero. After zero, a deep sense of worthlessness and pain. The highs were often so dramatically opposed to the come-down lows that the body-mind union could scarcely compensate or come to stasis within a reasonable amount of time.
Sitting still for the better part of the evening, denying requests from the AI to level up, and swatting away a lengthy list of questions about maximizing the aesthetic experience of his home, he again decided to leave. He departed once more for the Town.
Bit 0100
“What can you tell me?”
“About what?”
“You said you went back again, Faraq. You said you went back just last night, right?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well? What do you recall? What happened after the scanners? What did it look like? Did you see people? Did you have any conversations or communed-thought-circles?”
“Hmm.”
“Do you remember leaving for the Town?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Why did you decide to go this time?”
“There’s no deciding, doc. Don’t you get it? There’s nothing that would stop me from wanting to go, except for my own lack thereof.”
“Of what?”
“Wanting, I suppose, or impulse. Will to move.”
“You’re describing a very anarchistic approach to human motivation, nihilistic even.”
“No, I’m not a nihilist. I think that’s the point.”
“What is?”
“I passed under the scanners…”
“Yes.”
“They were bright. Bright like… what’s the word? Ineffable. I dunno. A bath of light. So bright that the mind just goes blank. It’s a stretch of scanners, I think. Lasts a few seconds. Maybe that’s the beauty. A letting go of control. Maybe the blindness makes you happy. Or maybe the idea of pulverizing some other vehicle while seeing nothing and catapulting into oblivion… maybe there’s something to that.”
“What happens after? Can you see where this town is located with respect to the rest of the city? Can you see mountains or buildings on the horizon?”
“I’m looking at a man in a bed.”
“Do you know this man?”
“No, I don’t know anyone, I don’t think. His face is haggardly. Not smooth or taut. I’m confused by it. His hair is white. Why is his hair white? His body looks frail. Why is his body frail?”
“How did you come to find this man, Faraq?”
“I… was invited.”
“Invited?”
“There are quiet voices and countless eyes. Countless terrible eyes collating collective data and despair. It’s hideous…”
“An unruly psychic projection run amok? Describe this thing. Even the most heinous of projections are but a reflection of ourselves.”
“Not a thing, doc. It’s no otherworldly serpent. The eyes are on my back, piercing through my physical body wormholes. They’re attached to plenty of skulls. Men and women. A few children, somehow. I’m kneeling. I’m struck dumb with paralysis and confusion, and by an emotion I simply do not understand.”
“What are you looking at, Faraq?”
“A well-dressed man, not moving, nor smiling, nor frowning. A room at my back full of regret and mourning. It’s a corpse. I dunno whose. I find the whole tableau stultifying, but I can’t withdraw my eyes. I can’t pry them free from this corpse’s clutches.”
“It’s not someone you recognize?”
“No more than saying I could recognize the composition of a fart based on what I ate that day, no. It’s a spectacle I’ve never witnessed. And I don’t understand the room. It makes no sense.”
Faraq shook his head back and forth, and then became calm.
“I dunno what to tell you,” he continued. “That’s the kind of shit you run into in the Town.”
“Can you talk about your confusion?” the doctor asked.
“Sure, but I think confusion’s normal, with all due respect. Don’t you? When was the last time you saw a corpse, doc? Or anyone did?”
“Some with older original biologies have seen them and experienced that unfortunate dis-ease up close - Mr. 130 no doubt - but a vast majority of the EverClass have not. And many who did have willfully programmed their AI environments to dim the past so that such hardships could be forgotten. Why ruminate, they have argued, on the cellular dis-ease of our forefathers when no relationship forged in the present will ever again be subjected to such inherent brevity and heartache.”
“I never seen one, doc, not before last night. Why didn’t men solve for this long ago? What took so long?”
“From Achilles to Heracles, Jesus to Lazarus… to the Fountain of Youth, and any number of figures referenced in religious literature as having been immortal or revived from the dead, man has strived to eradicate the limitations of his transitory biology since inception, Faraq. It may have been a dis-ease, but it was not one easily solved. The EverClass are the first not to experience the misery of death, nor the death of those beloved.”
“I dunno, that’s like being an insect and knowing that a large boot was coming down any minute to snuff out the whole thing… and scarcely moving out of the way. You know? It’s like, solve for the most pressing problem for Christ’s sake. Otherwise, what are you doing?”
“And is that what you’ve…”
Your subscription to this app has expired.
Faraq knocked the side of his head with his fist a few times, exhaling.
“Shit-apps. About as reliable as a house made of sticks.”
One-time cortex code now passing through gray matter and attempting to link with NeuroK Payment System. Attempting to link with NeuroK Payment System. Attempting to link with NeuroK Payment System. Credentials found and verified. Blink twice to confirm, else new one-time cortex code will be required.
…
…
…
Waiting for response. Blink twice to confirm, else new one-time cortex code will be required. Thank you for blinking twice to confirm. Payment has been authenticated, and app can now resume.
“And is that what you’ve been doing?” the therapist-sim in Faraq’s mind now having resumed. “Do you feel you’ve been avoiding the boot?”
Bit 0101
“Please select Cognizance level for next four hours,” the apartment requested. He had transitioned from the voice within to the voice without.
“Show me some Francis Bacon. And some Soutine.”
“Visual appearance can be adjusted once Cognizance level has been selected. Please select Cognizance level for the next four hours.”
“Cognizance 2. I don’t want to be completely zonked, got it?”
“Cognizance 2 program now instantiated. Bacon & Soutine appearing on the walls and ceiling of main room intermittently. Please adjust lighting for optimal viewing or request specific lighting program at your convenience.”
He sat down in the lone chair of his apartment. He was neither tired nor excitable. He had little desire for work, and lesser need. Faraq pondered various AI sims and experiences he might queue up for the better part of an hour - exploring newly terraformed planets, deep sea diving, hand to hand combat in Ancient Rome, escaping a spaceship after being captured by otherworldly beings, navigating superhuman abilities in extreme environments, traveling through time to the distant future - before ultimately deciding that none were of very much interest.
He re-instantiated the Child’s Wonder program. Faraq found himself in a farmhouse kitchen facing a 12-month-old boy with blond hair, soft cheeks, and large trusting eyes.
“How big is baby?”
The baby responded by raising both hands above his head, elated at the shared communication.
“So big!”
“How big is baby?”
Same response, same elation.
“It’s the soOOoo-big boy, it’s the soOOo-big boy!” Faraq sang melodiously. Simple but catchy.
That night, the baby couldn’t sleep. Each time Faraq left the nursery, the baby cried out in agony, desperate for the father-son bond. A makeshift cot was placed beside the crib, and for 60 minutes, Faraq lay with the child, his head nestled upon the father’s shoulder. The baby was happy and soothed, his breathing one with Faraq’s. It was one of the greatest emotions experienced in Faraq’s life, whether inside or outside the sim.
When Child’s Wonder had concluded, Faraq was still, his apartment filled with silence and aching.
“Fuck verisimilitude,” he said out loud. “Really.”
He wondered how many years he’d be doing sims in his home before going stark mad. 10? 30? 150 more years?
In the morning, he took the elevator down to the street and again ventured out, assailed by the wall of noise-canceling sound waves from every direction. It was warmer today, and most of the ground snow had become sloshy. A few blocks to the east, there was a bar cheekily called Alcoholics Simonymous which featured, among the usual trappings of an alcohol dispensary, cheap upgrades. Nothing lasting such as one would find at Singularity Today & Tomorrow, but low-quality junk that produced parlor-trick highs.
Still, he longed for company, and the bar was his best bet at finding it on short notice. The exterior was predictably white, with a white neon sign flickering in disrepair.
Sidewalk sensors. Automated voice.
“Hello Faraq, do you wish to enter this communing-space?”
“No, I enjoy standing outside doing nothing.”
“Very well, have a pleasant day.”
“I was kidding.”
The AI didn’t reply.
“Damnit…”
He stomped his foot three or four times on the sidewalk before it started up again.
“Hello Faraq, do you wish to enter this communing-space?”
“Yes.”
“Scanning for weaponry... Scanning for malice... Scanning for viruses... Scanning for radicalized ideas... Scanning for invasive seed material… Scanning for overall emotional-intellectual state...”
“Okay, thank you. Please note that 42% depression and 22% anxiety have been detected. These are permitted levels in this facility, but do take action at your earliest convenience. You are valid to enter.”
The place was packed to the gills by present standards. Faraq estimated some 40 to 50 individuals.
The whole place was dim, ensconced in soft green light, making the skin of each man and woman appear unusual. 50 pairs of eyes were upon him. And with good reason - the headcount going up or down was a noteworthy event. These types of congregations rarely fluctuated, scarcely drawing newcomers. And those who had migrated in… generally remained for weeks or even months making use of sleeper pod rentals with built in basic sim.
20+ parallel conversations resumed, assailing his brain. The communal sensory overload eliminated his ability to differentiate one conversation from the next. He made his way to the bartender. Small fellow with oily hair and a big potbelly, eyes glassy, cracked visage caked in smoke.
“Well?” the man said.
“Oh, I dunno,” Faraq replied. “What are people drinking?”
The barkeep sighed at the indecision.
“eBrius.”
“What’s that?”
“Latest drink, what else? Gets ya good ‘n’ numb.”
“Got anything that does the opposite?”
“Do you want it or not, guy?”
“Yeah.”
He grabbed the drink - a big orange number with fizz spilling over the meniscus - and made his way to a group of four blokes standing around a cobalt-blue table decked out with flickering lights.
“You shoulda seen her,” one of them was saying to the others. “Most gorgeous woman you’d ever hope to dream up, and I hung in that sim for what felt like years. You wouldn’t believe the wild nights… the eruptions.”
“Ever go back in?” another replied.
“Oh sure, but you know… becomes a routine. But yeah, every few nights.”
“Let me tell you something,” another began. “I got more money than God,” he bragged. “I’ve been digging in deep to get my levels up. They’re gonna need to re-code when I’m through with this system!”
“What are you gonna buy?”
“Oh, don’t really have anything I need, but maybe one day!”
“I’d buy some cancer,” I interjected. “If I could.”
“What the hell kind of thing to buy is that?” Faraq was asked. “You know it don’t exist.”
“I know, trust me,” Faraq replied.
“You one of these malcontents?” another asked.
“Not sure.”
“You’d rather be like some organic grand daddy?”
“Hm?”
“The vanished. Prone to dying from a coronavirus or some shit, or from bird crap, or from the indignity of lasting too long. I can’t even imagine it. You survive any number of infections and plagues, fight tooth and nail for a whole life at some menial back-breaking labor, or at least a labor wildly unsatisfying just to wind up a cripple taking shits in diapers before collapsing of pneumonia or stroke. What grace!”
“No, I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t long to die. I don’t think.”
“Trust me, bub, the world is finished with tears.” His skin was olive and his eyes intense. He appeared nutrient deprived, deep blue circles under both eyes, with a stubbly beard and food stains at the corners of his crooked mouth. The gentleman was tall and surprisingly sober, despite having been at the bar for some time. “No one needs to crawl up into a depression over some dead parent or kid. The world don’t need more parents, and it especially don’t need an army of little bots running around with the goal of trampling on tradition. We got everything now. You don’t see that? It’s us, here and forever, and we’re free now to experience anything we like. And you don’t want to live?”
“I don’t believe I said that exactly,” Faraq replied straightly. “I’m not complaining. I didn’t ask to be granted immortality, but it’s far from the worst thing that could happen to a guy.”
“Yeah… you’re a malcontent alright.”
The others in the group laughed. Some had now started moving toward the bar for refills.
“I think I’m just trying to figure out what it means to be alive today.”
“Same as it did yesterday,” the gentleman answered, eyes wide. “Same as it did when people were working in coal mines and dropping off at 50. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“My therapist would have a name for you,” Faraq answered, mildly amused.
“Oh no, you got a tinkerer running the show?”
“Not running it, no.”
“Fella, I can diagnose you. Turn off the app. It’s confusing you. You’re not getting enough sex. Do you need me to copy off some of my best orgies for you to take home? They might not be your cup of tea exactly, but you can get some ideas.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t ya see, bub, that there’s no moral high in sensory deprivation? This is what it is, and all it ever will be.”
“What if I wanted a real woman?”
“What’s real? Good luck meeting someone out there willing to let you touch them in the flesh. Simulation is as reality as anything else. So if you wanna be some lonely astronaut living on the seventh ring of Saturn, go do it. Or if you did want company, go dream up your perfect real woman and then instantiate that fantasy for 100 straight nights. What’s stopping you?”
“Sim is reality?”
“You’re hopeless! What did you say your name was?”
“Faraq.”
“I dunno if it’s good or not to meet ya, pal,” he said, holding out his hand for a shake, “but I’m Grale.”
It felt good for Faraq to make a corporeal connection. A small rush of unmuting flowed through his veins, before a far less pleasant sensation began to manifest.
“Grale?”
“Hey pal… Faraq… you look like dead dogmeat. Your eyes are yellow, and you’re sweating bullets. Are you okay?”
“I don’t…”
Faraq passed out on the floor.
“What was this guy drinking??” Grale yelled to the barkeep.
“Same as everyone else. A faker? Slap him in the face.”
“What the hell… piece of work comes in here with a deathwish and passes out? I don’t get it.”
Grale attempted to revive Faraq by jostling him about. He put his head on Faraq’s chest. Heartbeat was strong and Faraq was breathing.
The others gathered around the prostrate body.
“Is he…? He can’t be.”
“Course not,” Grale announced. “But he ain’t sleeping. I dunno if this is a coma or what. I gotta get him to a… doctor.”
People looked around with confused, contorted faces. Doctors had gone largely extinct, with very few remaining in practice. Those who were still around were more like historians than practicing physicians. It was uncertain whether or not the whole of the city featured a single, active medical doctor.
Bit 0110
Faraq could hear an intermittent beeping noise and machines with bladders pulsing inward and outward. His eyelids were sticky and painful, difficult to lift. The air smelled like an industrial cleaning agent and burned his nasal passages.
“Did they clean this place with ammonia and bathroom spray?” he wondered, before finally opening his eyes.
He was in a hospital. Hospitals were rare and contained only a handful of rooms, largely being dedicated to resolving software-hardware incompatibility issues for sim updates. But some legacy practices were still available. At first, the room appeared empty. No voices were audible. And then he noticed a man slouched over in a leather chair, half asleep.
“Hey, what happened?” Faraq asked.
Grale spasmed briefly and awoke, alarmed, groggy.
“He speaks.”
“Grale… yeah?”
“Don’t worry, I was able to find a scribe.”
“Hmm?”
“This place don’t have any doctors on staff, just technologists. But I found a scribe nearby who gave you something.”
“What did he give me?”
“Dunno. Said he’s seen this a few times before.”
“What is it? What’s the matter with me?”
“You’re blocked… whatever that means.”
“Blocked?”
“He gave me an address where you can meet.”
“You’re telling me that I’m sick, or something’s wrong with me, despite possessing the technological trappings of an immortal?”
“You see, if you’dda been enjoying some sim all this time, a little blip on the long term futurecast wouldn’t faze ya,” Grale said, laughing heartily.
“You’re implacable. How the hell did you find a hospital anyway?”
“I’m a human being. Helping people is in our nature. Now, why don’t you get out of that bed and get going?”
“Okay, give me the address. And uh, thanks. For everything.”
“You can thank me when ya find out whether knowing what you got is worth the squeeze. Or if some brigand rather brought ya here against your will only to set off a series of miseries.”
The odd, tall man smiled, bid Faraq well and departed the room. It was quiet again. The pulsing bladders and profane smells became foreground.
Later that day, when strength had returned, he sat up from the hard uncomfortable bed, dressed himself, and exited the room. The hospital hallways were dim. No staff appeared present. It really was a tired relic of a simpler time, and it wreaked. But what was the wreaking? Certainly not of death, of physical patients slipping out of the world. And all the same, perhaps like ghosts traversing some impermanent past, the feeling of death felt real. The death of something more relatable, maybe. In a way, this brought Faraq a modicum of joy. He sighed, stultified.
Outside, he was immediately greeted by the intense whirring noises which allowed the city to run, their undersounds and white-waves omnipresent, canceling out all sanity.
The snow was frozen and crunched icily. Stygian darkness had enveloped the alleys, where he sought his answer. The address led him to a particular alley where not a drop of light escaped its domain. Was there an apartment somewhere?
“Where is this guy?” he thought. “HellooOOoo!” he shouted into the blackness, hopeless.
“Hello,” bellowed a surprising response, a liquid voice.
“Who’s there?”
“You came looking for answers, yes? About your medical condition?”
“Yesss...”
The figure emerged from the darkness. He stood hunched, his sinewy body almost resembling the shape of an “S.” He wore dark glasses and a long wool coat. Faraq noted the man’s gaunt facial structure, bald head, and diminutive frame. His voice was imbued with hollow, saturnine notes.
“Can you tell me, Faraq, where do you go?”
“When?”
“When you escape.”
“I don’t see how it’s relevant, but I go to the Town. Wanna talk to my therapist?”
“And what does the tinkerer say?” asked the man.
“What’s your name?” Faraq asked. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
“Zubrus. Formerly Doctor Zubrus.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“I was. Once.”
“Then why don’t you work in the hospital?”
“Medical professionals go where they are needed nowadays, where there is disease and dispassion, disparity and despair... you got rinsed and washed in a glorified technical chop-shop, wholly different animal.”
“What medicine did you administer, and what does it mean that I’m blocked?”
“You’re on a ledge.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re on a ledge, Faraq, but you can’t jump. You know it would have no effect. So you don’t jump, don’t move. You can’t move, in fact. And because you cannot move, you cannot be.”
“How do you know about the Town?”
“Shall we go there together?” Zubrus then asked. “I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“I help people when they are in pain. And while you may be immune to most physical pain, you are hurting, Faraq. There is no cure for you in your apartment, or in this city. The only cure for you rests in the Town.”
“I didn’t realize it was a place that could be accessed at will,” Faraq answered, eyes wide.
“For most it is not, but for those in the clutches of despair…”
“What drug did you give me?”
“Infinitum Minus 1,” Zubrus answered. “It removes a year off your life.”
“What!?”
“Think briefly – would that rightly cause panic? Or would it create a comfort?”
“Infinity save one is still infinity… I don’t understand.”
“That’s true; it’s a temporary panacea. It’s a biologic-blocker which tricks the body, but only for a short while. You haven’t actually lost any life. If you had, you’d feel much more well.”
“I’d feel well with less life?”
“Of course, Faraq. I think you recognize this by now. Come, let’s get to the Town where there may be hope for you.”
Bit 0111
They drove under the scanners. A warm bath of iridescent sparkles passed through the vehicle like a summer mist. Faraq’s joints loosened. He could breathe easier. His shoulders relaxed. His mind felt still and at peace. The physical surroundings of the car came alive… he could smell the artificial leather drowned in various chemical agents. His skin against the seats. The coldness of the interior design. And the plastered particles of dirt on the windshield.
“How long have you been helping people?” Faraq asked.
“Feeling quite a bit less groggy I see.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Clock’s ticking now.”
“What do you mean?”
A purple-pink hue stained the entirety of the atmosphere. There was no snow on the ground, nor falling. The quiet of the Town was not that of suffocation, but of slow, flowing movement.
“Have you been here often?” Faraq asked. “Do you know much about this place or its effects?”
“I know that for every restriction there is necessarily release,” Zubrus answered. “For every collision there is equivalent dispersion. I’ve studied this place for a long time, yes. I cannot say what its atomic properties are or how exactly it may sit directly aside or on top of other places, but I know something of its effects. Let’s keep driving.”
Faraq took time to notice the lack of whirring machines as the buildings passed by on either side. It was dawn now. He also took time to notice the windows within each building which were aglow in soft amber light, silhouetting profiles of the people living inside. In fact, as they continued to drive, he began to see people on the streets in small crowds, chatting with one another, smiling. Some were even holding hands.
“I don’t understand this amount of exterior congregating.”
The doctor didn’t answer. As the car continued onward, it struck Faraq that he had never been terribly far into the Town. And the further they traveled, the more alien it became – a world not at all ensconced in technology and isolation. The fading light was deep, and it provoked a sense of beauty in his Faraq’s mind.
“I don’t remember anything ever looking this way,” he admitted.
“I wouldn’t suspect that you would,” Zubrus replied. “Around these parts, they just call it bieu.”
“What road are we on? Did we turn somewhere? It is unfamiliar.”
“Nothing Road. Easy to miss. How’s your breathing, Faraq?”
“Lighter. Why do you ask?”
“Won’t be long now.”
Finally, they arrived in a rural quarter of the Town. Faraq continued to glance the passing sights: a semi-functional petting zoo, an old firehouse with tall ted columns and a brick façade, a large soccer field, and a tall body of water. All of it was foreign with respect to the kind of life he had lived, as though visiting a new land. Nothing Road continued to twist and turn, but before long, Zubrus switched on a blinker and turned into a driveway. It was steep and canopied on both sides with verdant vegetation. When they arrived at the top, a house came into view. Sand-colored brick comprised two sides, adjoined by long planks of vinyl, with a worn roof and a single chimney. The dwelling was a large two-floor colonial, situated on a beautiful acre of property with fruit trees and a large L-shaped garden, fenced-in with brown slats and a door rigged from a wood pallet. A large rock as tall as a man and wide across punctuated the plot, sitting beside bags of peat moss fertilizer and plastic pots and troughs. The exterior of the house conveyed a sense of having been lived in, a sense of authenticity. Faraq felt that the space was barely graspable, but nevertheless experienced the emotional pangs of something fleshy.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel okay.”
“You’d never traveled too far beyond the Town’s immediate border with your city?” Zubrus pressed.
“Mm. No.” Faraq’s face was stoic.
The scribe nodded.
“Come, let’s exit the vehicle. I have some things to show you.”
They parked on the blacktop. Upon opening their doors, a few birds cawed, and the wind rustled.
“Here,” said Zubrus, pointing downward.
It was a 4x4-foot plot with orange-golden marigolds and a sign that read “Ramira’s Garden.”
“Who’s Ramira?”
“Do you see these flowers?”
“Yes.”
“They’re annuals. The grandfather who planted them here for his granddaughter plants new ones every spring after the old ones fail to survive the winter.”
“Too bad the old ones don’t make it, I guess” Faraq replied.
“Is it? Let’s take a peek into the home.”
Peering in through a large pane-glass sliding door, standing on Scarpetta steps, they witnessed several family members sitting around a white table, rolling dough into small mounds, and then flattening them into layers and adding butter, sour cream, and cottage cheese. Others were working in an adjoining room to mix ground meat with spices and diced onions, then squeezing the mixture through intestinal casings. An elderly man with intense reddish eyes and a fine head of hair presided over the ceremonies.
“Never saw anyone so old. Why does he look happy? He must have but years, or months, days… or who knows how long?”
A small boy with blond curly hair and large eyes ran out, who was then immediately scooped up by the elderly figure, producing a penetrating full-bodied laughter. Another young child walked by – a tall girl with brownish-blond hair and a piercing intelligence – and started doing a silly dance with her tongue wagging and head bobbing. Another elderly person, presumably the wife of the man, worked to set the dining room table and chatted with various people of different ages. Two tall women who resembled each other and who were dressed alike were doing a lot of the cooking in what appeared to be a handed-down tradition. All of the voices were boisterous and warm. It was a family of individuals who loved one another and who valued the time they were permitted to be together.
“Please, keep me abreast of your state, Faraq.”
“I feel relaxed, I suppose. These are strangers, aren’t they? I assume this is no dream, but what have they to do with my life or condition? I thought you had answers for me. Or maybe this is some kind of illustrative sim? I’ve instantiated plenty of those before. Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap… and so on.”
“It’s not a sim.”
“Well, it might as well be cinema – a rolling shot of the bygones. Organics in their final days. But what does it matter to me? You found some old onions here in the Town who never got upgraded?”
“I wanted to show you what happiness looks like.”
“Well, these people belong in a museum, or under a microscope. They’re dinosaurs. Can we get out of here? The whole tableau is saccharine.”
“I wouldn’t concern myself with movement, Faraq. If you want to live, you have reached your destination. You must stay in the Town.”
“Stay?”
His eyes widened, struck dumb with unease.
Bit 1000
“There are only so many times that a screw can be turned before its thread goes bare, Faraq.”
“I don’t understand your meaning.”
As they departed the house, they heard the old man bellow something curious, an axiom that no doubt held some great personal significance to his family.
Did you mooey with the buoy or did you buoy with the mooey?
They got back into the car and sat silently. The tangerine sun sparkled in a beautiful filigree through the surrounding wood, golden dashes of light weaving symphonically. As it set, its fading brilliance allowed for the emergence of the night.
“How long do I have?”
“If you only had a second, it would be enough,” Zubrus answered.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“I suspect it’ll be longer than that, though. Your body is durable. Not enough to withstand your old life. But durable. This is Day 1, and because there will be a day when it ends, that number is significant.”
“Yeah.”
“This is difficult for most.”
“Are all EverClass prone to this disease, whatever it is I have?”
“It’s not a disease of the body. It’s a disease of the condition. Immortality is the most foreign augmentation that could have ever been introduced to our biomechanical framework. It was bound to fail.”
“But is it really failing?”
“Depends on the individual, but yes, most assuredly, Faraq. Some are more prone to early onset than others, perhaps based on hormones or introversion scoring or depressive tendencies. Difficult to say. But for some time, we’ve seen more and more EverClass finding their way to the Town, staying briefly, and then leaving, renewed. We’ve studied the phenomenon across many individuals, and it’s quite unambiguous: the disease is constancy, and the Town has a means of temporarily clearing it, not unlike clogged cache in a terminal.”
“Like the bio-blockers?”
“Yes, except not a trick. All the eternal constancy of your life becomes impermanent here. Every systemic muted emotion resulting from your inability to understand aging or loss or a modicum on non-stimulation gets turned back on here, because the clock’s ticking. You’ll die here, and because of that, will experience a life that bears some proximity to one with meaning. This disease is the greatest gift you could have ever developed.”
“How though?” he asked. “How is this place different that it can affect a person’s cellular biology? And that family over there… children that I’ve never seen in my life…”
“They’ve lived here for many generations. They’ve died and been born, and will die and be born again. Because this place is largely hidden, they’ve never been subject to the crimes of your world, and its ambitions for perpetual inertia.”
“Are all residents organics?”
“Yes, or people like yourself.”
“Is the Town alive?”
“Not to my knowledge, but there’s certainly an intelligence greater than my own at work.”
“How do you mean?”
“There’s a machine in the heart of the Town. A technology unrecognizable. I believe it has something to do with the movement, with the erasure of constancy.”
“A machine?”
“Yes. The permanent residents have a name for it. They call it the Turbine.”
The End.
This has been a companion story to the novel "The Turbine."
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