Neural Web

by Dima Zales

  I glance up at the dusky sky. “Let’s wait until it gets even darker. Thanks for all your help.”

  “No problem. Sorry we had to put limits on the fireworks.”

  “I totally understand.” The bubbly and the vodka have given me a buzz that spreads comfortably through my body. “We’re going to enhance the real fireworks with a bunch of Augmented Reality ones, so Alan will still see the crazy display we had planned.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll let you get back to your party.”

  I make my way through the crowds and locate Ada and Alan in a circle with Muhomor and Dominic, with Mitya in the middle.

  “Hey, all,” I say as I approach their comfortable meadow. “Is this an impromptu Brainocytes Club meeting?”

  Muhomor raises a big bottle of vodka to his mouth and takes a generous gulp. “Just drunken musings.”

  I disable AR and still see Mitya’s shimmering figure glowing blue in the dark. He’s here as a hologram, something he does now when he wants to have a semi-physical presence.

  “I was just asking Alan if he thinks we need to change the world some more,” Mitya says in the slurred speech that means he’s either clowning around or simulating intoxication inside his virtual body and brain. “I was in the middle of going over what we’ve accomplished already—things like enhanced brain capacity, Augmented and virtual reality, unimaginable new hardware, advances in robotics and AI… We even learned how to cheat death.”

  “Partial credit for that.” Alan laughs and runs his hand through Mitya’s holographic image. “At least in my opinion.”

  “I’d say my existence is superior to your meat-oriented one, birthday boy.” Mitya floats up and lands on a branch of a nearby tree. “But what do you say, brother?”

  A slightly taller version of Mitya’s hologram appears where the original Mitya was just standing. This taller Mitya glows a shade of green.

  We all stare.

  Of course Mitya could already project multiple versions of himself using holograms, but I strongly suspect something else is happening. I don’t share my suspicions with the others, because I’m sure Mitya wants to be the one to explain.

  “Alan, I thought you might enjoy this announcement on your birthday,” Mitya says triumphantly from the tree. “This is Dmitriy—the second me I hid from you to make him a surprise guest.”

  My guess was spot on. For the past year, Mitya has been using his new advantages, such as faster thought processing and less need for sleep, to escalate our hardware production to previously unseen levels. His efforts have resulted in more powerful chips and server types. He always claimed his work was aimed at supporting the new user base and bringing higher-tier brain boost capabilities to more people, but I knew there was more to it.

  Now I see that I was right. He wanted to fulfill an idea we first discussed after his resurrection a year ago, and this taller version of him, this Dmitriy, is the result.

  “Hello, Alan,” Dmitriy says with a bow. “I am Mitya’s superior copy, at your service. I’m smarter, handsomer, faster, and even taller than the original. I therefore propose my maker be called Mini-Me going forward.”

  “You didn’t inherit a better sense of humor from the mini-you, but nice to meet you.” Ada winks at the newcomer.

  “The more Mityas we have, the merrier,” Alan says. His eyes excitedly dart up to the blue hologram and then back down to the green version. “This day just got that much better.”

  “Just as long as you guys remember that you and your mini-you only get a single vote to share at the next Brainocytes Club meeting,” Muhomor grumbles.

  “I hope that’s open for discussion.” Mitya lands next to his other self. “Dmitriy is going to be as much a person as me in the eyes of the law, so—”

  “I’m sorry if my appearance interrupted your earlier conversation,” Dmitriy says. “You were just talking about your impact on the world. As it so happens, Mitya’s motivation in creating me was to effect change in the world—more specifically, to kick-start an unprecedented hardware revolution.”

  Dmitriy pauses for dramatic effect, and it’s clear he’s superior to Mitya even in his ability to present an effective speech.

  “We’d like to build the ultimate computer, given the laws of physics as we know them today—to cram as many computations as possible into a given piece of matter. We have some basic designs already, and once you review them, I think you’ll agree that we can push the limits of nanocomputing very close to their ultimate physical limits. Scientists made molecule-sized transistors and storage back in the late twenty-teens, and over the past year, we made these practical. Our ambition is to build a two-pound, laptop-sized computer capable of ten to the forty-second power computations per second—and to do so within Alan’s biological lifetime.”

  “Such a big number is hard for even our brains to fathom,” Mitya says. “To provide some comparison, the laptop Dmitriy describes would be able to perform the equivalent of all human thought over the last ten thousand years in ten microseconds or so. Another way you can look at it is this: this laptop-sized device could be used to run the brains of a billion civilizations of beings such as the two of us—where a civilization is defined as ten billion of us.”

  “And that’s just in a laptop-sized device,” Dmitriy picks up. “There’s no reason we can’t build much bigger devices, even data centers. In the far future, we can cover the Earth with a computer substrate. Later still, it could fill the whole solar system—à la the matrioshka brain.”

  I try to imagine what we could do with the vast computers Mitya and Dmitriy have conjured up, but it hurts my alcohol-soaked biological brain.

  “I now want this magic laptop as a birthday gift,” Alan says, his voice filled with awe. “It would let me take world-building projects to the next level and create a whole multiverse of virtual univer—”

  “A bunch of Rat Worlds, but for people?” Muhomor crinkles his nose in distaste. “I hope you’re benevolent enough to randomly generate the denizens of these worlds. It would be very cruel to upload real people just to cast them into such a purgatory.”

  “I’m sure there are people who’d be glad to volunteer.” Alan’s eyes look distant—he’s already lost in his fantasy. “The worlds could be thematically different, some optimized for educational value, some for pure entertainment. For myself, I’ll make a world where sorcery is possible, and maybe a world where superpowers exist, and perhaps something with aliens or monsters—”

  “And maybe a world with sexy vampires for your mom’s birthday?” I say jokingly and get an elbow from Ada in my ribs. She thinks her reading preferences are a closely guarded secret, but Muhomor hacked her Amazon account long ago.

  “I can make anything,” Alan replies excitedly. “Even mash-ups, like a world with vampiric aliens or—”

  “A very good argument could be made that we already live in a place akin to what Alan is envisioning.” Ada rubs her temples with her fingers. She’s only drinking wine this evening, but it doesn’t take much to overwhelm her tiny frame. “If you think about it statistically, is a random person likelier to be one of the mere seven billion lucky people who live in the ‘original and thus real’ universe, or one of the billions of billions that can be easily emulated on the laptop Mitya will probably give Alan for some future birthday? The odds are not in our favor.”

  “Babe,” I say to her privately, “my brain officially hurts. Is that a sign that it’s a real brain or one emulated by an Alan of the future?”

  “It’s a sign that we should start the fireworks,” she answers with a grin.

  Out loud, she says in a raised voice, “If I can get everyone’s attention on the sky.”

  Hundreds of faces turn up. Following their example, I gaze at the blackness just in time to catch the first colorful explosion, a spherical halo of blinking stars. The next explosion follows on the heels of the first, with comet-like tails chasing each of the sparks. The effects escalate with each subsequent ro
und: a willow-tree-like gold stars beneath a plumage that reminds me of the Firebird, followed by visuals with such complex mathematical patterns that only a pyrotechnician with a brain boost could’ve designed them.

  I suspect all of New York City is gaping at the sky at this point.

  Alan’s mouth opens wider and wider as the fireworks continue. Ada and I exchange knowing glances. This is just the real-world event. The crazy Augmented Reality fireworks to follow will make this seem like backyard firecrackers in comparison.

  “I have to say something.” I project my voice virtually as well as through my flesh-and-blood mouth here, next to my friends and family. When all eyes turn toward me, I raise my glass in a toast. “What an exciting time to be alive!”

  Everyone cheers amidst the explosive blasts of the fireworks, and I knock back my drink as I Join with Ada, my joy intensifying as her hopes and dreams blend with my own.

  We’re together, we’re alive, and the entire universe will soon be our home.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading! If you would consider leaving a review, it would be greatly appreciated.

  * * *

  Neural Web concludes the Human++ series, but more books of mine are coming soon. If you’d like to be notified when they’re out, please sign up for my new release email list at www.dimazales.com.

  * * *

  Other series of mine include:

  The Last Humans (please click HERE) — futuristic sci-fi/dystopian novels similar to The Hunger Games, Divergent, and The Giver

  Mind Dimensions (please click HERE) — urban fantasy with a sci-fi flavor

  The Sorcery Code (please click HERE) — epic fantasy

  I also collaborate with my wife on sci-fi romance, so if you don’t mind erotic material, you can check out Close Liaisons (please click HERE).

  * * *

  If you enjoy audiobooks, please click HERE to check out this series and our other books in audio format.

  * * *

  And now, please turn the page for a sneak peek at Oasis (The Last Humans: Book 1), The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions: Book 1), and The Sorcery Code.

  Excerpt from Oasis

  My name is Theo, and I'm a resident of Oasis, the last habitable area on Earth. It's meant to be a paradise, a place where we are all content. Vulgarity, violence, insanity, and other ills are but a distant memory, and even death no longer plagues us.

  * * *

  I was once content too, but now I'm different. Now I hear a voice in my head, and she tells me things no imaginary friend should know. Her name is Phoe, and she is my delusion.

  * * *

  Or is she?

  Fuck. Vagina. Shit.

  I pointedly think these forbidden words, but my neural scan shows nothing out of the ordinary compared to when I think phonetically similar words, such as shuck, angina, or fit. I don’t see any evidence of my brain being corrupted, though maybe it’s already so damaged that things can’t get any worse. Maybe I need another test subject—another ‘impressionable’ twenty-three-year-old Youth such as myself.

  After all, I might be mentally ill.

  “Oh, Theo. Not this again,” says an overly friendly, high-pitched female voice. “Besides, the words do have an effect on your brain. For instance, the part of your brain responsible for disgust lights up at the mention of ‘shit,’ yet doesn’t for ‘fit.’”

  This is Phoe speaking. This time, she’s not a voice inside my head; instead, it’s as though she’s in the thick bushes behind me, except there’s no one there.

  I’m the only person on this strip of grass.

  Nobody else comes here because the Edge is only a couple of feet away. Few residents of Oasis like looking at the dreary line dividing where our habitable world ends and the deserted wasteland of the Goo begins. I don’t mind it, though.

  Then again, I may be crazy—and Phoe would be the reason for that. You see, I don’t think Phoe is real. She is, as far as my best guess goes, my imaginary friend. And her name, by the way, is pronounced ‘Fee,’ but is spelled ‘P-h-o-e.’

  Yes, that’s how specific my delusion is.

  “So you go from one overused topic straight into another.” Phoe snorts. “My so-called realness.”

  “Right,” I say. Though we’re alone, I still answer without moving my lips. “Because I am imagining you.”

  She snorts again, and I shake my head. Yes, I just shook my head for the benefit of my delusion. I also feel compelled to respond to her.

  “For the record,” I say, “I’m sure the taboo word ‘shit’ affects the parts of my brain that deal with disgust just as much as its more acceptable cousins, such as ‘fecal matter,’ do. The point I was trying to make is that the word doesn’t hurt or corrupt my brain. There’s nothing special about these words.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” This time, Phoe is inside my head, and she sounds mocking. “Next you’ll tell me how back in the day, some of the forbidden words merely referred to things like female dogs, and how there are words in the dead languages that used to be just as taboo, yet they are not currently forbidden because they have lost their power. Then you’re likely to complain that, though the brains of both genders are nearly identical, only males are not allowed to say ‘vagina,’ et cetera.”

  I realize I was about to counter with those exact thoughts, which means Phoe and I have talked about this quite a bit. This is what happens between close friends: they repeat conversations. Doubly so with imaginary friends, I figure. Though, of course, I’m probably the only person in Oasis who actually has one.

  Come to think of it, wouldn’t every conversation with your imaginary friend be redundant since you’re basically talking to yourself?

  “This is my cue to remind you that I’m real, Theo.” Phoe purposefully states this out loud.

  I can’t help but notice that her voice came slightly from my right, as if she’s just a friend sitting on the grass next to me—a friend who happens to be invisible.

  “Just because I’m invisible doesn’t mean I’m not real,” Phoe responds to my thought. “At least I’m convinced that I’m real. I would be the crazy one if I didn’t think I was real. Besides, a lot of evidence points to that conclusion, and you know it.”

  “But wouldn’t an imaginary friend have to insist she’s real?” I can’t resist saying the words out loud. “Wouldn’t this be part of the delusion?”

  “Don’t talk to me out loud,” she reminds me, her tone worried. “Even when you subvocalize, sometimes you imperceptibly move your neck muscles or even your lips. All those things are too risky. You should just think your thoughts at me. Use your inner voice. It’s safer that way, especially when we’re around other Youths.”

  “Sure, but for the record, that makes me feel even nuttier,” I reply, but I subvocalize my words, trying my best not to move my lips or neck muscles. Then, as an experiment, I think, “Talking to you inside my head just highlights the impossibility of you and thus makes me feel like I’m missing even more screws.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t.” Her voice is inside my head now, yet it still sounds high-pitched. “Back in the day, when it was not forbidden to be mentally ill, I imagine it made people around you uncomfortable if you spoke to your imaginary friends out loud.” She chuckles, but there’s more worry than humor in her voice. “I have no idea what would happen if someone thought you were crazy, but I have a bad feeling about it, so please don’t do it, okay?”

  “Fine,” I think and pull at my left earlobe. “Though it’s overkill to do it here. No one’s around.”

  “Yes, but the nanobots I told you about, the ones that permeate everything from your head to the utility fog, can be used to monitor this place, at least in theory.”

  “Right. Unless all this conveniently invisible technology you keep telling me about is as much of a figment of my imagination as you are,” I think at her. “In any case, since no one seems to know about this tech, how can they use it to spy on me?”

  “Corr
ection: no Youth knows, but the others might,” Phoe counters patiently. “There’s too much we still don’t know about Adults, not to mention the Elderly.”

  “But if they can access the nanocytes in my mind, wouldn’t they have access to my thoughts too?” I think, suppressing a shudder. If this is true, I’m utterly screwed.

  “The fact that you haven’t faced any consequences for your frequently wayward thoughts is evidence that no one monitors them in general, or at least, they’re not bothering with yours specifically,” she responds, her words easing my dread. “Therefore, I think monitoring thoughts is either computationally prohibitive or breaks one of the bazillion taboos on the proper use of technology—rules I have a very hard time keeping track of, by the way.”

  “Well, what if using tech to listen in on me is also taboo?” I retort, though she’s beginning to convince me.

  “It may be, but I’ve seen evidence that can best be explained as the Adults spying.” Her voice in my head takes on a hushed tone. “Just think of the time you and Liam made plans to skip your Physics Lecture. How did they know about that?”

  I think of the epic Quietude session we were sentenced to and how we both swore we hadn’t betrayed each other. We reached the same conclusion: our speech is not secure. That’s why Liam, Mason, and I now often speak in code.

  “There could be other explanations,” I think at Phoe. “That conversation happened during Lectures, and someone could’ve overheard us. But even if they hadn’t, just because they monitor us during class doesn’t mean they would bother monitoring this forsaken spot.”

  “Even if they don’t monitor this place or anywhere outside of the Institute, I still want you to acquire the right habit.”

  “What if I speak in code?” I suggest. “You know, the one I use with my non-imaginary friends.”