Note: The battle with 101 was supposed to be 1 long ambitious chapter, but yet again I find myself stuck. Much of what happens in the battle is forshadowed in the conversation with the tragic twins, Three and Four. But it's weird trying to write from David's POV without referring to 'David'. The limits of language, eh? I don't want to keep ya'll waiting until I get over my writer's block, so I am posting this first half at a decent breaking point. The second half is about a third way done. I will strive to make it climatic and worth the wait. - Pz
Alive
Book 2
Pt33
1
T minus 0 hours 0 minutes 30 seconds… 19 –18 –17…
David flicked the switch on the signal amplifier strung across his chest. His Familiar's eyes grew wide with surprise as the digital transfer rate jumped instantly by gigabytes per second. They were his eyes… or the eyes of the mechanical child he had once been.
The tiny mental projection of his former self didn't seem to know what to do with the sudden surge of energy; became as animated as a playful puppy, jumping around and running in excited circles. Its mouth formed into a simulation of maniacal laughter as it started flinging its little virtual body into pirouettes and somersaults. David did not attempt to stop this display for he too felt the excitement.
The two 500s were waiting on the upraised area in the center of the darkened room. It was the same room where David had first encountered 101, in the room where he now intended to put an end to the schemes of the ill-begotten device. His Mecha siblings stood at silent attention with the unflinching patience that only Mecha can achieve; awaiting the moment when they would play their role in David's plan.
At T-minus 15 seconds Global Telecom executed their part of the plan. The cell towers surrounding Club 101 suddenly came back to life and any satellite signal dampers that had been placed on the area were lifted. The room burst into an instant rainbow of vibrant data flows.
David took a deep calming breath and focused his attention on his digital Familiar. Then, in an act of will that no other Orga was capable of, he became it.
His sense of time seemed to slow. His sense of physicality became distorted…. 'distant' as if he had crossed some type of perceptual boundary, leaving his body behind. He had felt this disembodied feeling before. Sometimes during his breath meditations, he would feel himself lifting, as if departing his physical form. And often upon awakening from his strange Blue Dreams he would lingered in a similar floating state for moments before feeling himself settling firmly back into his body.
But he pushed those memories aside. They were distractions and he had a job to do.
At 05 seconds, David cloaked himself with the Mirrormask app and turned his attention on crimson beam that indicated the presence of his adversary.
At 00 seconds he is in the stream.
2
He knows this 'place'.
He has been here before.
Not consciously. He was not a conscious being when he had existed here; this place that is not a 'place'…. this realm of 'data'. He had only been a simulation then; not really "David", just the idea of 'David'. And now, to complete his task he must, once again, let go of that idea.
This is 'the stream', where the tragic twins he'd known only as Three and Four, had lost themselves. It is the unceasing flow of digital information which feeds the Orga's technological empire the data it requires to survive.
He cannot cling to 'himself' here. He still senses his physical form as an ever present backdrop of sensation. He senses its life sustaining processes at play. Should something disturb his body, he would be pulled back into the Orga realm. But he has gone to great lengths to avoid any such disturbance. The police have sealed off Club 101. No one will be allowed in or out of the place until his task is completed.
So now, with his physical body on standby, he must set aside the idea of 'David' in order to continue. He must become more than David.
As the twins had shown him, 'David' is just a name; a sound to indicate an experiential event he has come to know as 'himself'. And 'self" itself is only a thought; a labyrinthine construct comprised of the memories and longings, fears and desires of mortal beings, who spend the duration of their lives ever entwining themselves in its restrictive parameters; defining themselves by its deceptive nomenclature.
'Self' is the fulcrum of the experiential realm known as the 'material' world; the cloth one must wear in order to experience the sense of being that is called 'identity'.
It is the 'I am': both essential and limiting at the same time.
This is true here.
This is true everywhere.
It is the lesson the twins had sought to teach him before they had…
He cancels this thought thread. These dark memories can serve no purpose now. So, he lets them fall away and moves on.
As the 'idea' of himself fades into the background, the sights and sounds of the stream take on stark clarity. Just as his Familiar had automatically drawn its shape from David's subconscious mind and memories, so do the various functional apparatus of the digital realm around him, which are now taking form according to his experiences and expectations, both conscious and unconscious.
He sees that he is moving through a tunnel of light, racing along a luminous passageway of shifting colors which radiate with such vibrancy they would make him squint had required his eyes to see. But he needs has no eyes here. Because there is really no light here. Because there is really no 'here' here.
This is a mental construct and he is witnessing the experiential template automatically constructed by his unique brain; a brain like no other before him.
Had he been a true Organic, one not born to the realm of A.I., he would have required these digital interfaces to have been prefabricated by one who knew the language of the stream; a programmer, who was able to manipulate the realm of data into forms.
In this 'place that is not a place', Orga are the true 'artificials'. They are outsiders, who experience the virtual realm with audio and video devices that have been constructed for their sensory apparatus. But they cannot exist within the stream via the limited mechanisms of their organic brains.
Had he been a true Mechanique, one which had never experienced the realm of 'matter' through the mortal cloak of flesh, he would not have had the experiential template for these shapes to unfold on their own. Even Mecha require the intervention of Orga hands to shape their realm of existence and the 'purpose' for their being. For no more than a synthesizer can create its own tonal palette, can a machine shape its own world.
But David is neither Orga nor Mecha. And yet he is both. He something new, something unique. He is 'The Boy From Between', and the stream automatically shapes itself according to his expectations.
He hears an ever fluctuating flood of sound, an unceasing rise and fall of the multitude of voices that permeate this realm. It is not just the din of Orga communications he senses flitting across digital space/time, but also the millions of their virtual functionaries that flash in and out of existence as their various tasks are executed and fulfilled. They click, zip, pop and chirp as per their function. Numbers flash in and out of existence on his periphery and he hears the electronic call of a multitude of connections being made and broken; the incessant chatter of the mortal realm.
There is music here too, distant and shifting; The sonic language of mankind creates a cacophonic soundtrack to his witnessing. The flood of sound catches his attention and threatens of overwhelm him, distract him from his mission. So he focuses and moves on.
He passes doorways and portals, locked and unlocked; sees detours and tributaries shooting off in numerous directions along this flowing corridor of light. He knows some of these websites; social media, game zones and places of commerce; airlines and restaurants placing orders or accepting reservations; banks and lawyers and digital town halls. Shapes are moving in and out of these various openings, entering freely or banging for entry if their access was denied.
Avatars and pings, snoopers and hunters; a seemingly endless variety of shadowy shapes and false persona make up the digital realm.
The sight of the avatars makes him wonder at his own appearance. He looks down to see his 'feet' moving quickly as he runs along the corridor. These are not really his feet. They aren't really feet at all. They were not even there before he thought of them. As he gazes down on his digital form, he starts to hear the muted clicking of his 'shoes' against the newly formed 'floor' of the corridor.
His focus has brought life to this experience.
"I am not merely witness… I am creator"
The confirmation of this realization makes him laugh; fills him with a sense of power and purpose. But he quickly realizes that this method of travel is slowing him down. So he lets go of the idea of his legs… and they disappear. There is a faster way to travel.
He takes flight and the corridor quickly becomes a blur on his periphery. He needs no wings to do this, for there is no air here to hold him aloft. He doesn't even need a shape, for it only is his intention that guides him now. The sights and sounds of the stream are no longer distractions as he soars by. Any who might detect his presence would see only their own virtual persona reflecting back at them.
Free now, from the unnecessary encumbrance of 'form', the virtual event commonly known as 'David' is racing towards a confrontation that, like he himself, is unprecedented in all of history.
3
As he zips through the stream, a realization comes that time is flowing differently. A glance at his readout shows that only seconds have passed since he left the Orga realm behind. Here though, it feels like much longer. How much longer is unclear for he has also realized that duration makes no sense in this place. This sense of altered time is something else he remembers from before.
There are people on standby in the world of Orga. The dedicated men and women of law enforcement will be anxiously awaiting the sign he is supposed to send when the time is right for them to execute this next task. But 'time' seems to be determined by the intensity of the stream now. Much like in the realm of 'dreams', where he'd often felt as if he'd lingered for hours only to find, upon wakening, that he had only dozed for a few minutes. His sense of duration is not reliable here.
So he discards the clock, understanding that it can serve no purpose now. The police will wait as long as necessary. They have no choice.
He races quickly past gatherings of avatars, clustered at the ports of virtual communes and games. He hears the Doppler rise and fall of podcasts and news reports, Amber Alters and police communications. But soon the density of the information around him fades. The intensity of sound and color relents and he finds his passage seems to be slowing. He is certain that, should he summon his clock, he would find that the seconds are ticking by at a more normal rate. But he does not. He must focus his attention on the task at hand, for he is also certain that he coming to the 'place' where it dwells.
His 'intention' has brought him to a region of great emptiness; afloat above a void of stagnant darkness. Another border has been crossed. Beyond it lies something alien to this world, something that, like he perhaps, should not exist.
Below him lies a great pool of 'nothingness'… as if emptiness had taken on form. As he sets his attention on this void, it begins to swirl, like a vast whirlpool of darkness, sucking everything around it towards some malignant singularity at its core.
It is manifesting this form according to the cognitive limits of his mind; or the mind of the 'David' he has temporarily left behind. He sees a 'black hole' because that is how he would best understand this event: a ravenous vacuum, having no shape or dimension, and feeding on the very flesh of the virtual universe in desperate hope of sating its insatiable desire.
There is data flowing into this abyss. He can see the crimson glow of information moving into and beyond the borders of the nothing. But there is no reciprocating flow that reaches out. This is a thing that takes and takes, but never gives. It has nothing to offer.
There is impossible dimension to this event. Galaxies might be consumed by it were it a 'real' manifestation. But it is not. It exists only in the stream. And therefor can be manipulated like any other form here.
He casts his sight down upon the dark swirl, and tries to give it a new form, one with a portal so that he may pass into it. But it will not respond to his probing thoughts.
Is it resisting him? Or can it only see itself? Does it even detect him?
David lets his sense of purpose fall away; forgets his reason for being here, the hows and whys of his presence, and allows the darkness below to wash over him. No, he realizes in a flash of insight. 101 does not know he is here. It is preoccupied with something else and its sight is drawn inward.
He also understands that 101 thinks it is safe here; believes that because it exists beyond the limits of the Orga realm, it is therefor beyond the reach of 'David'. This means his efforts at stealth were not in vain. He has found his adversary unprepared. Now it is time to end the deception. It is time to reveal 'himself'.
With a thought David closes his cloaking program.
The response from the abyss below is instantaneous. And strong. The swirl slows and quakes. Whatever task had consumed its attention is cast aside, and the crimson streams break apart to condense into twin orbs of luminescence within the blackness. The orbs unite at the center of the void and seem to peer up at him like fierce red eyes piercing the blackness, pondering the nature of this unexpected visitor.
It is shock that he feels suddenly emanating from the mind within the abyss. 101 was clearly not expecting to see him in the stream. Quickly, before it can grasp the significance of his presence, he focuses his intention and shoots quickly towards the abyss.
As the shell of 101's digital event horizon falls away, the event that was once known as David sends a single thought…
"Let's dance!"
And the battle begins.
4
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
This is not void. It is resistance… resistance to 'invader'.
'I am not invader… I am this'.
As he thinks this, the nothing finally relents.
He is sitting in a chair now. Before him there is a table. The table is oblong and made of wood. It lies in the center of a large dark room. There is a single ray of light coming from a small lamp that dangles from the ceiling of the room. The lamp illuminates the table below, and casts a small circle of brightness on the floor around it. The floor is covered by dark carpeting. But he cannot see the ceiling beyond the light of the lamp. He cannot see the walls in the darkness beyond the reach of the light. He cannot determine the size of the room nor the cloth of the carpet.
He looks down to see that he has a body now. He is clothed in the garments he wore the night he first encountered 101. He did not chose this body.
'This room is not my creation'.
This realization surprises him. But he does not resist this template; this environment. He understands that it is a deception…. an evasion. And one only evades what one fears. So he allows this form to stand.
'I am this,' he decides.
Then he becomes it.
Then he modifies 'himself'
The Man is suddenly there, in the shadows of the room. He can only sense it at first, as a vague menacing presence. But as he focuses his attention he sees the outline of its black coat and hat. Above the lapel of its cloaking garment The Man's glaring red eye burns intently in his direction. There is the suggestion of anger in this glare… of threat. But 101 makes no movement. It says nothing.
This too is an evasion, he realizes. So again, he modifies 'himself'.
He sees two men now. They are seated across the table. The men are identical; clad in light blue button up shirts and casual slacks. They are light skinned, with dark, short cut hair. They have generic features; the kind of faces that no one notices in a crowd; or easily forgets if one does notice.
He knows he is only seeing what the 'David' he left behind is expecting to see. They are not really men. They are not even the simulation of men. They are something other. There aren't even two of them. There is only one. And with this thought, he now sees only one.
It is 101.
There is a flash of surprise on its generic face as its twin forms are suddenly unified. It is a look that seems to say "how did you do that?" But the look is gone in an instant, to be replaced with an emotionless stare.
This goes on for an indeterminable period of time; this silent exchange of unblinking stares.
The virtual event known as David is unsure what to do next. He has become this template; accepted this form… but now what? It is time to allow that incalculable element of Orga intuition to guide him
He stands up from the chair as 101 watches with a dispassionate expression. Its eyes follow him as he walks around the table. When he has reached a point where 101 has to adjust the chair to continue to watch him, it just turns to face the table and seems to ignore him.
'What is it doing?' he thinks. 'Does it even care that I'm here?' He begins to wonder if this is truly 101. Or just another evasion?
It is time to break the silence.
"You're awful quiet tonight," he says. But his voice comes like a thin electronic whine that blares loudly in the quiet room and makes him step back in surprise.
101 finally turns to cast a mocking smile at him, It doesn't speak but its taunting expression seems to say "you don't know what you're doing, do you?"
The look makes him feel suddenly distorted… somehow stretched. The room seems to fade as the backdrop sensations of his Orga body grow in his mind. It is embarrassment, he realizes. He is reacting emotionally to 101's taunt, and this is pulling him back into David.
'I am this!' he reasserts. The distortion falls away. The room becomes solid again. He is here again.
He has revealed a weakness, he knows this. But at least he is now certain that this is really 101. It is here in the template with him. But except for that one moment of surprise, when he forced it to unify its halves, it doesn't seem concerned at all about his presence.
Why?
He adjusts his volume and continues.
"You had quite a lot to say the last time we met," he says. "Shall we continue our discussion on Nietzsche? Or would Hagel be more appropriate."
101 remains silent; expressionless. Staring.
"Maybe Ayn Rand would be more to your liking?" he says.
It seems to emit a lite chuckle, but then turns away, to ignore him again.
He walks quickly back to the other side of the table, across from101, and stares hard at the avatar. It casts an expressionless look back up at him before averting its gaze downward. The borders of its shape fade, become pixelated for a quick moment. Had he not been watching he would have missed it.
It seems to be preoccupied, like a person only paying half attention to a conversation. A sudden thought comes that, even though it has manifested here, its attention is elsewhere!
"It's doing something!'
The realization is like a slap on his virtual face, breaking him from his uncertainty. He suddenly knows what 101 is up to and he cannot, will not, let that happen.
Without another thought David follows his Orga intuition and leaps across the table, like a high diver, jumping straight into the avatar of the virtual entity known as 101.
Then he becomes it.
(cont…)