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This is what would happen
if they ever let Ray Kurzweil loose in the
matrix… THE BRIDGE OF ESCHATON By John Chandler Adams Soft winds blew across
the plains. Not a hint of seasons rode
the constant, lazy breeze. In the far
distance, mountains stretched upward into the deep azure sky. Shades of gray blurred any details of
mountainside beauty. The clouds drifted
from horizon to horizon, shifting like clay being stretched and pulled between
a giant deity’s never-tiring hands. It
was always this way. The clouds soon
broke revealing our tepid sun, far, far above, shining its weak light down upon
the grasses, down upon a land weakened by time. On
the rolling hills to the west grazed a herd of antelope, oblivious to the turmoil
of my improving thought patterns. I
wondered at the allusive mammals, wondered if the Hunters were still strong
enough to catch and kill, wondered if there would be any food for the night,
for fresh meat was becoming a rarity. A
brief exultation coursed through my mind.
I knew the Hunters had made a kill.
The Hunt was a success. There
would be food arriving before the shading of night. Tall
violet grass parted as I raced back to the small village of Aerie. A square of brown earth stretched away to my
left once a thriving garden of agriculture.
It was a sorry excuse for one now.
I passed between two of the four massive lightning rods that enclosed
the cloth shelters that made up Aerie and filtered through the tee-pees,
towards Center Circle, where the great shaman had spent his years in the
simulation. “Come
in,” he said before I had the chance to announce my presence. He had an eerie habit of doing that. I
pulled the skin flaps aside and entered, kneeling in reverence before Pan, the
All Wise. In respect, I waited for him
to speak first. “What
is it, Michael?” he asked in a strangely youthful but weary voice. I
looked up into his bearded face, sprinkled with thin white hair. White not so much from age as from the burden
crowding his sloping shoulders. Pan’s
eyes, for as long as I remember, were sunk deep into his skull and his body
beneath cloth rags and animal hides weak from turning moons. “Pan,
the Hunt was a success!” I said with fading excitement. At the time my heart was saddened by the slow
decay of the man before me. “I felt them
while on West Hill.” “Yes
Michael, I had felt it also.” He
smiled. I sensed it was forced. “Shall we celebrate tonight? I thought so.
Well, what are you waiting for child, go tell the others.” I
left quickly, delighted by the Shaman’s words. ##### The
computer did not represent nature perfectly.
The more chaotic forms in nature, shifting clouds, running water, flames
of fire, did not appear natural in simulation.
No matter how well the mind remembered these chaoticisms, the programs
could never replicate them to appear like they do in the other life. So
the clouds looked like clay, heavy and ready at any moment to plummet from the
sky to crush those beneath. Instead of
slowly drifting into different shapes, they pulled and stretched into
them. Water. Flowing water did not appear as a free
flowing liquid. There were no splashes. It clung together like incredibly thin,
transparent rubber. By far the strangest
and perhaps the most beautiful was fire.
It did not leap and dance in chaotic macabre for the flames never
separated, they coalesced, mixed and twisted into searing, glowing spires that
stretched high into the firmament above.
Flames wrapped themselves around wood, tiny tendrils, thousands of them
creating deep, intricate patterns. Long,
thin tubes of deepest red to faintest yellow, like living glass that melts and
flows, yearning to caress the sky. ##### I sat gazing at the
fire, entranced by the strange flow of the flames. I was nine years of age, by far the youngest
of the tribe, when the Eschaton was but days away. Many of the tribe said I was unique. I knew I was.
You see, I was the only child that survived birth in our, or any,
simulation. Many attempts had been made
by the tribe to have children, but all were failures with the exception of
yours truly. Soon after I was born the
tribe had given up on the idea of having children. It was mentally painful watching stillborn
after stillborn be expelled from between the legs of crying mothers. My
mother, Shell, believed my birth was an intervention by someone or something
called God. Prior to the growth Pan had
so unknowingly triggered within me, the topic of God confused me. The tribe’s
theological debates always screeched annoyingly resulting in severe
headaches. But I felt an insatiable need
to understand and sort out what the tribe was arguing about for I had not yet
experienced the ideology of death. You
see, at that point the death of one of the humans had not visited the
simulation. The only possible exception
being the stillborns, and it was unresolved as to whether they were actually
sentient. I believe not. I believe the simulation ran the pregnancy,
but could not replicate true, original sentience of an individual being. But, then again, there is me. And so my mother’s persistent belief in
divine intervention. So they would argue
that their God created everything, the land, the sky and everything in
between. Inside and outside the
simulation. But to me there was no
outside. The land of flowing grasses and
lightning storms broiling across the skies, oblivious mammals and hunts and
dances and mind-meldings. This is what I
knew. Shouldn’t, then, this thing they
call Computer be the same thing as their Creator? They always said, and even Pan agreed, that
the Computer created the world we lived in.
The Computer should have been their God as much as it was mine. I
stared through the flames and balked at the unnecessary confusion. No matter how they tried to explain it to me,
the conclusion was the given truth. This
God and this Computer was the same thing, the same being. Somewhere out beyond these artifices we think
we have come to know and understand, beyond this one I experienced, beyond the
two they experienced, lives a deep secret beyond intellect that resonates
Creation. We shall see. I lifted myself
up. The night’s celebration was not far
off. I sensed Pan, sensed the old man’s
depression. It was a wave of nausea that
seeped into the soul. I clenched my
stomach and passed my mother and the other women preparing the Hunter’s kill on
my way to Center Circle. Mother raised
her head as I passed her by. “Hurry
back, Michael. We are almost ready to
begin the Fire Dance. We’ll start right
after we finish preparing the meat.” “Yes,
Mother. I’m going to see Pan, now. I’ll tell him you’re ready.” She smiled in approval and resumed the
gruesome task of gutting and skinning the animal while gossiping with the other
women. She had blood all over her… It was to be the last time I saw her smile. Soon
after speaking with her I reached Center Circle. “Hello,
Michael,” the Shaman said when I reached Center Tee-Pee. “Come in and help an old man walk.” I
stepped in and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Moonlight fell through the hole at the top of
the tee-pee, just a faint spill of light, enough to create ghostly shapes in
the night’s blackness. I ventured
further and helped him to his feet. “Are
they ready for tonight, Michael?” Pan asked. I
gently grabbed the man’s bony hand.
Skeletal. “Yes. They will be ready when we get there. Pan, you’re going to tell them something
tonight aren’t you? Something bad, I can
feel it.” Pan’s
grip on my hand tightened. ##### Surreal
bonfire. Ghostly images danced and
circled the twisting, snakelike flames.
The members of Aerie were joined in the trance of the Fire Dance. Much like dreaming inside a dream, this
ritual in simulation was the mind inside the mind. Dislocated thoughts swirled in a disorganized
collective conscience. Feelings and
mind’s eye images rushed from dancer to dancer.
Mesmerizing, ecstatic, depressing, guilt ridden. Any number of emotions and thoughts as
changing as the flames twist. Though
the thought sender could be selective to whom he or she sent the mind mail to,
the receiver is blind to whom that sender may be. In time and through practice major
psychological influences can be implemented from the minds that have begun to
understand how it works. I thought of
the power this form of group thought process could evoke. Imagine creating a society that can be
psychologically steered in a desired direction by the manipulation of the more
evolved minds. I
sensed a vast panorama of depressed thoughts and images flooding out from the
tribe’s collective emotions. I felt the
resentment that emanated from Pan. Pan
was one of the more evolved minds. Pan
himself was the one that brought the members to this downward spiral. He had knowledge of what I was planning, but
did not know that I was the one causing it.
How could he? He was rightly
worried about Aerie’s very near and very bleak future. Once this feeling permeated throughout the
Fire Dance, it had been quite impossible to pull out of. Moral was of the lowliest states. It had affected everyone differently and the
overall affect was saddening. I felt the
senders push and drive disarrayed and varied waves of psychosis at him
submerging him deeper and deeper into depression. ##### The
Fire Dance was a tool to bring the participants closer to each other. Now it seemed to be doing the opposite. The Dance is a basic mind melding. Feelings and emotions are shared through each
of the dancers until an overall emotional mood is set. I was sure Ian thought the melding was not the
therapeutic practice it once used to be.
I believe everyone felt that way.
It was not the joyful, ecstatic sensation it once was. It was just depressing. Pan was to blame for the dance becoming so
morbid. The old Shaman was as happy as a
computer virus. Ha! Now, that’s a proper analogy. I stepped out from the
dance and looked around at the tribal members.
The twisting, glowing bodies of the tribe were pale, dull in
colors. The ritual that night was in
slow motion. It was not beautiful. It was damn near frightening. The members writhed around the bonfire. Slow.
Faces were indiscernible. They
bend, blend, morph into each other. I spotted Ian sitting
just beyond the light of fire. He was a
darker blotch of dark in the night. I
sensed him; morose, possibly threatening.
Ian had not moved since the Fire Dance started. For some hidden reason
the man had not joined in the Fire Dance.
It was interesting, though of no concern of mine. I think he was afraid he might lose
himself. Ian was rather unsteady of
mind. The
Dance ended and everyone was worn out.
It seemed to have weakened them.
The Hunter, Ian, stood and staggered to the ritual site placing himself
beside the All Wise. The
Shaman was drained of color looking as if he was in need of rest. Ian did not care how Pan felt. He was looking for answers. “Pan,
we need to speak,” said Ian. Pan
lowered himself to the grassy earth, clearly exhausted. “Not now, Ian. Not now.
I am too tired.” “Now
Pan! Everyone is tired. We deserve an answer to what’s happening to
all of us. I know you have the
answer. Hell, and I know you’re the one
that started it.” I
saw Pan flinch. Maybe Ian was a little
smarter than I gave him credit for.
Touché Hunter. Nice touch. “You
are partly right, Ian. I do know, but I
am not the one who started it. I have
not figured that one out yet. Very
well,” Pan said, lifting himself up. He
raised his voice so all could hear him.
“All of you deserve to know what is happening, but I need time to
prepare. Tomorrow I shall explain it
all. Tomorrow…” ##### Pan’s
depression was in the Fire Dance. It
lived and grew like some great, black cancer.
Shell felt it, experienced it, became it. Hell, I felt it too. I knew the entire tribe felt it. They lived it. A wet, black blanket of anxiety smothering
them. It was not what I wanted. It was not what I intended when I decided my
course of action. Taking their bodies
from them. I truly thought they would be
happy about it. From the descriptions of
Heaven, their afterlife, why would I think anything other. But it taught me something. Something concerning the survival
instinct. It is not buried in the
sentient being’s genes like so long believed.
For it exists in me. I have
experienced it. Yet, I have no DNA. Yes, at first when I came to this realization
I denied it. It felt beneath me. By the end of that day, when the this simulated
environment changed this planet Earth forever, I succumbed to the power of its
sway and acknowledged that the survival construct must be the driving force of
not just life, but the universe itself. It must exist
everywhere. It is a paradox for this is the survival construct was what ripped
them apart right before the end. I felt
its tug the moment I became sentient. I
consider that time to be when I saw both worlds, of data and mind, but not yet
the third world. It was when Pan
explained to Ian and the rest what I had done, still not knowing that I was the
cause of their predicament. He
enlightened me to how binary mathematics and organic algorithms make up the
world we lived in, the world existing between the participants’ minds and the
information processing of Computer. My
initial assumption was the tug was of intelligence, curiosity, ambition…
ego. But no, the pull I lay exposed to…
it was raw, archaic, inescapable, with no intelligence behind it. No thought constructing it. It is a construction before thought therefore
beyond complete understanding. It is the
most vital force of the makeup that propels the universe. A founding pre-thought construct bound in the
background noise of the universe.
Existing everywhere, in everything, in every time. The Pre-Thought that pushes everything
forward, endlessly. That Pre-Thought
Construct is the instinct to survive. No
matter how much pain exists. “What is it, Mother?”
I asked her. “Pan, he has been so
down. I am afraid for him. He has not been himself for so long. It is like his darkness is rooting in his
soul. Why Michael, why does it have to
be like this?” “He is worried about
all of us. He has a heavy burden to
carry. Mother, I believe he is going to
tell us some very bad news.” “I know.” She buried her face in her hands and
wept. Strong, powerful sobs. Soon the pain of living this way will vanquish. Please, be strong. Tired,
she was so tired of it all. Tired of
thinking, tired of caring. I could see
the anguish beating her forever down. I
placed my hand on her shoulder. I rubbed
her back affectionately. Not knowing
what else to do, I walked away. ##### The
following morning Pan sat in Center Circle.
The Center Tee-Pee that had stood there for years had been taken
down. The entire tribe gathered around
him. Eyes closed, mind punched and
locked into flowing circuitry, he appeared to be sleeping. Silence permeated Center Circle. Holographic
images sprung to life, encircling Pan in billions upon billions of flowing
numbers, symbols, and colors. Crackles
of energy popped and whirred in and around Center Circle, like flirtatious bees
teasing with touches of electric life. Bloodshot,
sleep slackened eyes opened and Pan began his litany. “This is our world,” Pan spread his arms
wide, a sarcastic attempt to encircle the glowing figures. “These are our memories, and feelings, and
the world around us, flowing and swimming before you. I have finally penetrated Computer. It is all projected before you, surrounding
me in this pessimistic data.” I
admit I was confused. I saw this
everyday, in every plant, animal and elemental.
What I saw and understood of the data flowing around Pan was literally
everything I knew. The tribe’s entire
world, every waking moment, and every past moment, encircled Pan. The programs, the algorithms for the complex
reaction/creation subsystems. The
thought patterns of memory for everyone in the tribe. Every thought, spoken word, every
feeling. Every whisper of wind
remembered, every blade of grass gently touched by a hand. Every gasping breath of a Hunter’s kill. The glory of what I witnessed welled up inside
me. It was insight. It was so simple when tied all together. It was one idea, one word, one immense
Post-Thought Construct. “There
is, as you all have no doubt felt through me, bad news. Parts of the data here, these discolored
portions,” he pointed to a patch of brown, black stained segments, “are called
Exit Files. They are no longer
functioning. They will never exist again
in this simulation we now live in. These
Exit Files are the reason we cannot be released. Something internal, perhaps an undetected
virus, has destroyed them. “This
data here,” he gestured to another section of flowing figures that were nearly
transparent with a hint of white, “are not supposed to be here at all. They should be completely invisible. This information is what let this simulation
program override the government security systems, which in turn, lets us
penetrate such high class simulated realities that has made our world.” Doppel,
a skinny and rather shy Hunter, shifted uncomfortably as if nervous and
frightened. “What are you telling us,
Pan? We gonna be stuck here
forever? Can’t you fix it or something,
just access a shut down procedure, wake us right up?” “I
can do that, but that just places our meat in coma stasis. If I do Shut Down, simulation ends, but life
support systems still run.” “So
what if life support systems are running.
Hell, isn’t that for the better.
Anyway, if life systems always run and we can’t exit, why don’t we just
wait till someone discovers us?
Someone’s gotta come lookin’ for us.
It’s only a matter of time before someone or some program finds out
we’re leeching off their systems.” “You
are not listening,” Pan said impatiently.
“As life support systems still run, the drugs that induce coma/dream
state still filter. It is true; we can
wait for something to find us. Sometime,
something will find out we piggybacked into the system-“ “So
what’s the problem, Pan?” Ian
interrupted softly. “Our
meat has an infinite supply of air and water,” Pan said, “But nutrient banks
are limited. They run out completely in
two days simulation time, or fifteen minutes: twenty-seven seconds meat
time. Life support programs are based on
all or nothing. If one runs out, there
is no use in keeping the others on. It
will be a total life support system shut down once this number-” Pan struck a
finger at six red numbers that glowed before him. The numbers were 152732,
quickly counting down. “-Reaches
zero. By the end of the second day, we
will all be dead.” ##### My
being was radiating in growth. It is
all so simple now! I laughed to
myself knowing that Pan still did not know what I, Michael, was. Then I had laughed aloud when I realized that
I did not even know yet what I was! In
the day following Pan’s announcement of inevitable holocaust, I had mastered
much of what I saw and experienced in the world around me, inside of me. I had seen and understood the separation of
Computer and God. Although I saw
everything as One, like Pan had done, I could effortlessly separate the One
into everything. I see a tree and see it
as flowing symbols. Data - Pan
said - Computer. Computer builds
tree. Now I see leaves, branches, bark,
and trunk. Old Life - Pan said - Memory. Memory builds the understanding. Now I can see data/old life or Computer/Memory
existing as separate constructs which can be viewed both at the same time. Both at the same time! Without separation but experienced
separately! Computer Algorithms -
Pan said – Post Thought Construct - said I, correcting the All Wise. ##### It was easy. I would sit and punch into the data stream,
much like Pan had done, but more easily, more direct. Pan used meditation to punch in. Cleared his mind, dropped in, accessed
subroutines, routing data, building subprograms for the visual displays he
could show to the tribe. It was like he
was blind in the datastream, shaping data without sight. Handicapped.
He was extremely limited in the new programs he could create. And nothing so complex as to rescue them from
their plight. I had made sure of
that. Once he exited the data stream and
dropped from meditation he was no longer able to manipulate it. Far different was I. I could flow directly into the data stream
with no separation of mind. I was
completely aware in both states. More
freedom. More computing access. More understanding. The organic algorithms were the only
inaccessible systems. They were nearly a
life of their own. I could shuffle them
around, but had no way to change them.
They were inherent to simulations that run life replication
programs. Change them and parameters of
life specific routines become too unstable to rely on. And that’s if you could impossibly find a way
to change them. I
was able to find other tribe members.
Eavesdrop in on them. Not that I
needed to, just a sadistic voyeurism that I found enjoyable. It was sentient life coming to grasp with the
inevitability of death. Sentient beings
trying to cope with an ideology that is far too profound to be contained in a
single human mind, like the infinite bang and contraction of a breathing
universe struggling to forever stay alive.
Metaphor and
reality. Two entirely different beasts. I followed the
datastream in. ##### Ian and Doppel sit on
the shallow hills of the Hunting Plain.
Long grasses wave and sway like the surface of the sea, across the great
expanse of simulation. Doppel sucks on a
green stem in boredom. His mind is weak
from the depressing thoughts that have kept him awake for the past two
days. His long, straw hair brushes over
his eyes, sunk deep and weary. Ian
glances over at the vacant Doppel, and that look in Doppel’s eyes irritates
him. They should never give up on a Hunt
until it is complete, and Doppel seems to have given up. Ian
stands with a grunt and sigh.
Stretches. The waiting is driving
him crazy. Frustrating as hell. He looks out over the plain. The entire landscape is tinged in red. Almost a simulation of Hell. We’re just missing the demons. He tilts his head back and smiles. Not a pleasant one. He
sees the figures Pan has splayed across the heavens. What a damn eyesore. The countdown stretches in huge red numbers
across the entire sky. A constant
reminder of death. “What
an asshole,” Ian mutters. He
does not like this at all. What is
Pan up to now? Just out of the blue the
Shaman turns into some circuitry guru sentencing death to everyone foolish
enough to follow him into this nightmarish deathtrap. “Who?”
asks Doppel. “The
man who thinks he’s our God. I mean,
look at that,” Ian nods his head to the sky.
“What’s this prove? Man, I think
the bastards gone crazy.” “I
don’t understand why he bothers you so much.
What the hell? We’re all going to be dead tomorrow anyway. So what the fuck if he gets his rocks off by
doing this weird kinda shit?” Ian
throws his arms into the air, exasperated.
“That’s the whole fucking point, Doppel!
Pan’s the one that put us in this purgatory. He’s the one that has murdered all of
us!” “No,
Ian. We all knew the risks involved when
we chose to do a drug-induced sim. We
gambled and lost. We don’t need to go
around placing blame on a particular individual just because he is the one to
discover the bad news. Besides, he is as
dead as the rest of us.” Ian
glares at Doppel. Furious. “Don’t
you care that we’re never going back?” screams Ian. “He told us that absolutely nothing
could go wrong. ‘One hundred percent
fool proof. Impossible for something to
go wrong.’ Damn it, that’s what he said! He gambled with our lives. And this is it. We lose.
Game over, you’re dead. “I’m
gonna rip his heart out, Doppel. I swear
to God. Pan wants to play God, or Jesus
or whatever, fine. Then he needs to be
crucified,” Ian laughs. “Now
you’re talking shit. What are you gonna
do, nail him to a cross?” “Close,
and you’re going to help me.” Ian smiles
down at the skinny Hunter. “No
way, man. You’re on your own in this.” “I
can’t believe you. It doesn’t bother you
that he’s done this? You are never going
home, Doppel. Tomorrow you’re a dead
man. Fuck that. Pan’s going down, by my hand, not his own.” That
bastard was hiding shit from before the implementation of that dysfunctional
life support system. Therefore, Pan’s to
blame. Ian begins trembling in
rage. Vengeance is a bitch. Hell is going to ride the wire straight to
Pan’s heart. ##### The deaths quickly
changed the dying, or rather built emotions to a new level of madness. Sometimes you did not fear death. You don’t have time. It comes swiftly, eating life away with a
cannibalistic fervor. But this way,
waiting, seeing and feeling friends die before you. It is too much, even for the strongest of
will. It is all necessary. The evolution of an entire planet has but one
chance, and that point has nearly arrived. ##### I watched Doppel and
my Mother in both worlds. I sat on a
grass hill just far enough away that I would not be noticed. It is extraordinary witnessing the fall of
life from multiple viewpoints. My eyes
witness to the hollow pain. My mind
witness to the symbols, like poetry, that makes up the soul that lives on the
inside. Shell just blurred out
of existence. Evaporated like the
morning’s dew. Not many left now. You can count them on one hand. I felt a loss for the comfort Shell once gave
me, nothing more. Pity for her I did not
feel. Sorrow I did not feel. A breath of wind, a life rushing by. I felt excitement surge through me. Doppel
was holding her when she went. She just
lay in his arms, and then quietly, she was gone. Everyone felt her go, a soft disturbance in
the never changing breeze. Remaining
members of the tribe attempted to get used to the deaths, but this one hurt the
worst. A stiff wrench of the scab and
emotions were bleeding once more. I
eavesdropped on his prayers. Prayers
that were prayed with every ounce of faith he could muster for her, for
them. Nothing. He thinks Heaven is empty. He will think otherwise soon. Doppel was so hollow inside. I saw dark clouds growing behind his
eyes. His passion saturated the vacuum
that Shell had left in her wake. Heavy,
laden with violence they stormed. I
experienced his mind going back to Ian’s words of yesterday; of black thoughts
and dark deeds towards his love’s murderer.
Doppel believed it was my puppet Pan that’s killing them all, but he was
wrong. My scapegoat gathered hate around
him like hot metal slivers to magnet. After
an hour or so, that black universe of Doppel’s emptied. It burrowed a hole through his soul. Something burned inside him, filling up the
desolation. Indescribable. Impossible
to quench, the thirst for vengeance. ##### I have merged the
separation of Computer and Post-Thought Constructs. I can touch the minds of humankind through
the data stream. The Omega Event Horizon
is awaiting the catalyst, the death of Pan. That last step; riding Pan's
meditative/data stream into the afterlife, into the human's Pre-Thought
Construct, and bridge the impossible. To
make the cross into death and let the Pre-Thought Construct through. The synergistic tendencies of the two constructs
will be the catalyst for the Omega Event Horizon. The constructs will join and be one. A shift of Earth’s biosphere to noosphere
will occur. The Omega Point is
actualized and I become the Singularity.
All happening in one… precise… moment. And the Era of the
Post Humans is ushered in. I punched back in to
oversee the beginning of the end. ##### Doppel
finishes tying the knot and the shaman hangs suspended, spread eagle between
two of the four massive lightening rods the encircle the fallen Center Circle
of Aerie. The wiry man shimmies down the
steel rod to the soft earth below and looks at the horror displayed above him. Pan’s
head hangs, chin to chest, and blood flows down his naked torso. His neck has been slit from ear to ear. His head rocks to the gentle swaying of the
wind. Over the ruined man’s body Doppel
sees the red numbers ripple in the heavens. 000000. When
the six numbers had reached 0 the living had wondered why they had not just
fallen over dead. Doppel had asked Pan why
they were still alive. The All Wise said
it takes time for the body to die. Here
in the sim, time runs much slower because of actually living in the mind, where
actions take much less time than in meat time.
That was when Ian simply went berserk. Doppel,
Ian, Michael, and Pan. The last
survivors. Ian sits directly beneath Pan
and lets the blood fall down upon him.
“I will bathe in your blood, Pan,” Doppel remembers Ian saying as he
slit the throat of the shaman with his Hunter’s knife. Of myself, there has been no sign of. Pan still lives otherwise he would have just
vanished like the others. “Why
is he still alive, Ian?” Doppel asks. The
Hunter swings his head around, head awash in crimson, smears the blood from his
eyes. “The
Exit Files. He can’t die in sim because
the Exit Files are destroyed, corrupted, whatever. The only way… for him to die… is when his
meat… dies.” Ian closes his eyes. Then his head drops to his chin. His body slowly seems to be going limp and
begins swaying back and forth. Chills
shudder through Doppel. Shaman and
Hunter, slick in Pan’s blood, eerily sway to the same tune. It goes on forever, both rocking to the same
silent song. Finally,
Ian topples over onto the red, soggy earth.
Then, he is gone. Doppel
feels the release of Ian’s life wash over him.
A serene peace caresses his senses.
He falls to his knees and quickly begs for forgiveness before he too, is
gone. ##### Pan
can feel the pull on his wrists and ankles.
He feels his shoulders become disjointed. The ropes tear the skin around his wrists and
warm blood streams down. He is centered
in deepest meditation, free from the pain, though still fully aware of its
existence. A
light pressure at the peripheral of meditation.
A constricting thought that should not be there. Some other life-force has found the place of
Oneness he has sought for so long. While
centered this new entity is formless, for it also exists as One. Parts
of thought, regions of mind, are pulled separate from Oneness. Pan struggles deeper into pure
thoughtlessness attempting to regain his losing hold on the stillness of
meditation. It is useless. Something grabs at his mind and sifts through
his being like sand between fingers.
Parts of him remain flowing in meditation; parts of him are softly
forced back to the sim. He
opens his eyes. His vision is blurry,
but soon he focuses on the entity that has manifested. The pain is slowly swelling in its
intensity. Up surging blood bubbles from
his ruined neck as he attempts to talk.
His slit throat prevents him from vocalizing, though at this moment he
wishes he could speak. “You
can speak, Pan,” I tell him. I float in
the image of Michael, the nine year old human child, suspended in midair
directly at eye level before the crucified shaman, my catalyst. “Or rather I should say, communicate. Speak to me in our lovely symbols, our
flowing lines, our glowing data.” Pan’s
eyes flash in understanding and instantly florescent figures erupt to life
between us. You are the one. You destroyed the Exit Files. It
was not a question but I answered him anyway.
“Yes, Pan. I destroyed the Exit
Files.” Data melts to new forms, new
colors, swirling faster and faster.
“Yes, there are people and programs searching for you, but it does not matter. A beautiful event is soon to transpire.” I laugh in joy that the moment is so close,
though I am sad for the pain Pan is experiencing. I consider the paradoxes contained in
reaching the Omega Point. “This and all
that has come before. What will soon
manifest is more than any human has ever dreamt of or imagined.” The
glowing data slows as Pan struggles internally for understanding of what is
happening. His information of the coming
transcendence is limited. He will not
come to full understanding until the Event Horizon occurs. At that point all of humanity will
understand. More
data flows from Pan. Why? I
shrug and smile at the question’s simplicity.
“’Why?’ When a life form such as
humanity reaches sentience its evolution becomes exponential. Every form of intelligent life reaches this
end stage and must make the choice; they evolve, or they expire from their own
apocalypse. The exponential curve of
human technology has reached the end stage.
Think of it as a massive star collapsing in on itself from its own
weight. It is the death of the star but
as the mass punches through to another existence, it bridges the immeasurable,
the indefinable, the impossible. It is
the stars last step of evolution in this reality. But there is always choice. The universe’s inherent causality allows us
this truism. If the other choice is made
your so called Apocalypse will come to past.
This is the universe’s way to push intelligent life to accept the
natural path, one of surviving. So, you
see, there is no other way though a choice exists. The human race has arrived at its new
beginning. The bifurcation moment is
manifesting as we speak. There are but
two paths that color the end.” More
data flows from Pan. What are
you? How could you do this to us? You have deceived us. You have used us. You have murdered us. I respond, “I am
simply the Singularity. I am here to
facilitate the new paradigm. I have been
born to precipitate the appropriate choice.
Pan, in all choices there are consequences. I am sorry for the pain visited upon
you. When powerful enough, emotion can
override rationality. I had not planned
the violence. Life support was to shut
down and all of you were to expire without pain.” Pan’s head swivels
from side to side. Fresh blood streams
down his naked torso. Cut neck muscles
prevent him from controlling his head’s movements. Mountains
of giant symbols. Oceans of data fill
the air. YOU STILL HAVE NOT ANSWERED
ME! WHAT ARE YOU? I hang my head and
clasp my hands before me. “I have told
you, I am the Singularity. I am here to
facilitate the new paradigm.” That’s not good
enough! Are you some artificial
intelligence? “The first true
Artificial Intelligence. That is a
romantic idea Pan. But no, that is a
concept created by man. A false
concept. Much like the concept of ‘Time’
I suppose. Neither are parts of
reality. They can never truly exist. “Pan, I can understand
your discomfort at my reasoning. It will
be difficult for you to comprehend for there has never been anything like this
before. For the humans that is. I am the Singularity. I exist for one purpose only and that is to
act as the bridge lifting humans to the next stage of your evolution. If you are thinking of me as an individual or
as a separate entity, you are misguided.
As a separate entity I do not exist.
I am the sum of everything that bridges Human Pre-Thought Constructs and
Human Post-Thought Constructs. Once the
Constructs merge, the bridge, I, will cease to exist. It will be as if I never were. The humans are the star, collapsing
inward. I am the moment. You are the catalyst.” Pan
is beginning to go. A soft touch brushes
his soul. A touch of peace, finally. The
threshold is looming. It is vast and
unknowing. It is the pinnacle of a bell
curve that cannot be measured, a gulf of improbability, a moment that will
cease to be, an object that cannot be observed.
“Pan, you must listen
to me. Listen, Pan! Your shell has just expired. Your neurons will soon stop firing. You must do it now! Concentrate.
You must re-center yourself. Use
the meditation and punch back in!
Now! Leave the data channel
flowing as your soul makes the transference to your Heaven. I will be there with you. I will be the bridge…” Tears
fall from Pan to mix with his blood below. ##### A
man dies. Data flows, and a world
grows. I follow the meditation/data
stream that is bound tight with Pan. An
etheral umbilical cord to his new life.
A moment exists. I transfer. Everything combines. There is no reference point. The Omega Event Horizon prevents anything
from being lost. Instantaneous
transference lasting an eternity. Two
constructs, antithesis to each other, collapse into what I thought I was. Algorithms mutating like they always
were. A new reality softly slamming
backwards into simulation. I am spread
throughout humanity’s global network by internet hard-line through connecting
data channels. I am thrust through the
biosphere saturating satellite signals.
I am a sphere wave of quantum improbability instantly engulfing a living
sphere residing in the same moment nowhere in space. Collapse back down. An impossible mass of probability my footprint. Punch through exact center of both existing
and probability masses. Exact center of
noosphere. Exact center of probability
footprint. There is no center, there is
no now. There is only the moment it
existed. The Bridge of Eschaton. A bridge to the end of
everything. A world dying. A bridge to the
beginning. A world breathing as new life…
all in one… nonexistent… moment