by Sean Platt
Crossbrace would be like that one day.
Why is there a lag in my geotag gaming glasses? How am I supposed to conduct my virtual scavenger hunt if the stupid pieces of crap never work?
The problem with every technological revolution was that it merely established a new set point. Instead of being revolutionary, each thing just created a new level of ordinary. In time, humanity caught up to and passed that new set point, and then all that could be done was to start over and reinvent it all again.
The world needed a system that wasn’t merely better, but that would stay better. It needed a network that didn’t merely move the ball forward on a line, but lifted it upward into a new plane.
The problem with Crossbrace — as great as everyone believed it to be today — was that it had been created by humans, who could only understand the world in fundamentally physical ways. What if, instead, there was a way to create a network organized by human hands…built by beings native to a digital world? What if, instead of creating AI to fill a world, someone could create the wireframe…and set AI loose to build whatever it wanted?
Noah could see that world. He’d been seeing it for years, but it was too late to divert Crossbrace’s launch by the time his new truth became self-evident. The march forward had felt jubilant to most at Quark, but for Noah, it had soured almost as quickly as the effort was begun. He’d seen the light; he knew the paradigm had moved on, and yet they were about to release something that was already five generations behind. But a man had to reach first base before moving to second, so he’d kept a straight face and plowed forward, frustrated, knowing his hands were bound. Knowing that when this was over, he’d face the monumental task of convincing a company awash with victory that what it had just birthed was nearly worthless.
The idea for the next network was maddeningly clear in Noah’s mind. With each passing day, he could see it better. He could picture what a fully AI-developed world would be like for the beings who inhabited it. What it would be like to exist in a purely nonphysical realm, able to have whatever you asked for…and redefine the process of instantly asking those questions.
It was an amazing, intoxicating vision.
There was only one hitch. One trick left to pull off, one bit of true magic — not illusion — that would solve every problem forever by redefining the structure of problems.
Noah went to his private bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared into the mirror’s silvery depths. It was a plain mirror, but one day it might be a mirror hooked to the new network, spanning the worlds themselves.
The new network would be a place where anything was possible, but a single irony remained: Humans — who were analog, physical beings — would be completely unfit to fully experience a place like that. To truly live on the new and evolved network, you couldn’t have a body. You couldn’t be physical. You’d need a way to enter a virtual realm as people had been doing for a hundred years now…but to do so fully then find a way to discard the physical husk and stay there forever.
If humanity could do that, they’d be able to live a life of actualized dreams.
If they could do that, they could have Heaven on Earth.
Noah met his eyes in the mirror.
If he could solve that one problem, humankind’s true evolution could begin — and that, maybe, would be a legacy worth leaving.
But there was a problem with that, too — albeit a quality one.
In order to leave a legacy, a person had to die.
Watching his reflection, imagining the mirror as a portal to that other world, Noah smiled.
Episode 16
Chapter One
October 15, 2042 — IggNite Productions
“The trick,” Iggy told Noah, “will be telling the right story.”
Noah was sitting in Iggy’s penthouse atop the Ophelia Spire, near the mag train. Noah’s own penthouse was in Quark’s Infinity Spire, not far from Rachel Ryan’s penthouse and across from Clive Spooner’s famous one in the twisted black building. It was ironic that Panel was supposed to be a secret. Anyone could find them all if they just skimmed the tops of the city’s best spires.
Noah turned. Iggy was watching him in his serious way. Iggy laughed a lot and could be quite funny (such that Noah found anything funny), but he had a deliberately grave expression he used when intent on making a point. It was hard to take him seriously. He was wearing fifteen-year-old Converse shoes and a shirt with a cartoon character that Noah wasn’t geek-culture enough to recognize.
“‘The right story,’” Noah repeated.
Iggy nodded.
“What are you talking about? I asked you about evolution of Crossbrace.”
“Exactly, Noah. You wanted to ask me. You didn’t ask Eli, who’d know the technical details much better. You didn’t ask Clive, who we all know is your main off-Panel go-to guy.”
Noah started to protest. Going off-Panel couldn’t be illegal because Panel itself was neither legal nor illegal, and it couldn’t be prohibited because everyone in the group was at least friendly, and many had personal relationships beyond their professional ones. But discussion of large matters was supposed to involve all of them. That’s what Panel was for. Everyone was supposed to agree to a covenant: If all of us share everything with you, you agree to share everything with us. It had to be that way. It was the only way to control the world.
Before Noah could pretend he’d never gone to Clive Spooner behind the others’ backs, Iggy waved a hand to keep him from embarrassing himself.
“Whatever. We all do it. Clive’s basically a silent partner at O, and everyone knows it. That’s why, in front of Alexa, Shannon sometimes calls Clive ‘Seven.’ Because he’s the seventh member of O’s Six. But if you ask me, Clive is actually just fucking Alexa (not literally, unless he is, which he might be), and she’s too naive to see it.”
“You may be the first person in history to call Alexa Mathis naive.”
“My point is, you came to me. Not Eli, who knows the web like another world and built half of it. Not Clive, who’s your normal guy. Not even Alexa, who’d believe the psychobabble behind it all. So why me, Noah?”
“Maybe we were due. You and me.”
Iggy laughed. Iggy, Clive, Rachel, and Noah had been the first drivers of the informal mastermind that became Panel, but Iggy was the only one Noah hadn’t ever transacted business with. There was little crossover to work with. Noah had built Quark, and Iggy, like Alexa, had his roots in writing, branching out into creative entrepreneurship. He was the most right-brained among them — and that, maybe, was why Noah had come.
“You’re good at finding creative solutions to problems,” Noah said. “This felt like a big problem. More than a network issue.”
Iggy leaned against one of his large windows. “You came to me because I’m a storyteller.”
“Oh. Well, good to find out what I was thinking. Now: What did I have for breakfast?”
“I’m serious. Maybe you didn’t realize why you called me, but your mind understands the problem enough to know how difficult it will be for others out there in the world population to understand it. Tell me the truth: You’ve tried to create an outline, haven’t you? A project map? Maybe a business plan, even?”
Noah nodded slowly.
“Right. But those things don’t quite encapsulate it all. They don’t quite cover the bases. You’ll map out how Quark could manage to afford the outlays necessary to replace the brand-new Crossbrace network then realize that the board would never approve the expense. You’ll draw system schematics showing how many sensor clusters you’d need to put where, to give your new evolved AI the eyes and ears it needs to begin building…but then run into a brick wall when trying to explain all the disruption the workers and needed construction would cause the city. Because people are happy for now and will balk at the need for all the annoying improvement work. Repairing something that’s broken is one thing. Quark and the people using Crossbrace would agree to all of it if Crossbrace were
obviously flawed and broken, but right now, it’s — ”
“It is flawed!” Noah interrupted.
“From your perspective. But most people don’t feel that way. Look at it from the Quark board’s point of view. They were ready to lynch you, but somehow you pulled Crossbrace off. You managed to launch it and delight the world. The board’s patience paid off, and within a year the company won’t just have its rather large debts paid; it’ll be cash-positive and on its way to being a beast. And right now — right as something finally went right for Quark, against all odds — you want to sell them on another massive, risky project? A project that basically scraps the thing that just saved their asses and starts over? Do you see the big sticking point here? Nobody else sees any problems with Crossbrace. It’s the best thing since the microchip.”
Noah wanted to rant about lack of vision, but he kept his mouth shut. Iggy was right, of course.
“You can’t argue your way into what you want, Noah. You need to pull off a little sleight of hand. You need to make the world think that what you have in mind is their idea. That it’s inevitable, if only someone could solve the problem you’ve made them believe they have. And then you present the solution — not as something you’re pushing for, but something that’s dragged from you, almost against your will.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Noah. You got a little reprieve, and for a while I suppose you’ll be a hero — at least within the NAU. Same as Clive was a hero, though that fucker is charming enough to keep selling everyone on the idea that his shit doesn’t stink even after he got the world to build his moon station and pay for it then let him keep what he had, safe over here while his home burned in the East. But you, you’re not charming. You’re an asshole.”
Noah considered contradicting Iggy but decided not to bother.
“So if you want to replace Crossbrace with something even bigger, you have to pull off what Clive did with the Mare Frigoris base…but even harder, you have to make it seem like it was barely your idea. That you had a vision but knew it couldn’t happen, and somehow you pulled it off anyway.”
“I feel like I’m missing something,” Noah said.
“Well, right. That’s where the story comes in. And who’s better at telling stories than me?”
Noah watched Iggy. He was long, tall, and awkward. He had a huge nose and a messy head of hair. Storytelling was Iggy’s thing. Noah supposed he had to give him something.
“How have those in power led armies to kill people they don’t know for centuries, always at the risk of their lives? By telling them God wants them to do it. By telling them that the country is depending on them.”
“Propaganda,” said Noah.
“Stories,” Iggy argued. “Stories about religion and patriotism. ‘If you die for the cause, you’ll save those you love from evil.’ Because the enemy is always evil. They’re never just people in a distant land; they’re evil. Maybe you’ll go to Valhalla. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with a harem of virgins. Hell, Clive had a story, right? Why do you think his company is called For the People? Because For Clive’s Bank Account doesn’t have the same ring to it. He told everyone that if they could build that array and look back to the beginning of time, it’d give humanity a common cause. Or look at Alexa. Do you think O could have got away with the shit it did if they hadn’t spun all those yarns about sexual liberation and freedom? Hell, I don’t even know half the alter egos Alexa has out there. She has fake activists trying to establish that not screwing O girls on their sex islands and not buying O toys and sims is tantamount to repressing every woman who’s ever lived. You think you can change the world without a great story? Think again.”
Noah stood. He crossed to Iggy’s bookcase — which, like Ben Stone’s desk when Noah had begun his journey, was lined with small cartoon figures. One was a blue platypus with a fedora. Now what the hell was that? He almost wanted to ask, but it was never a good idea to get Iggy started.
“Okay. So how do I tell a story?”
“First of all,” Iggy said, “you have to remember that the story can’t be about you. The story that drove the Crusades wasn’t about kings and queens and popes; it was about the destiny of nations and Heaven. Clive’s story wasn’t about Clive; it was about giving the world something to work toward that just so happened to benefit Clive Spooner, and he just piggybacked on Terrence Ferris’s PR campaign for the Doodad. ‘Everyone can join the worldwide conversation? Awesome; now let’s put our heads together “For the People.”’ Or Take Alexa. O’s story wasn’t and isn’t, ‘We have the best sex toys and porn.’ It’s, ‘We’re evolved enough as a people that we deserve a new standard and a new understanding of freedom.’ And don’t even get me started on what Rachel pulled off with the NAU itself.”
That got Noah’s attention. His head flicked toward Iggy, still smiling his idiot’s smile.
“Come on, Noah. Enterprise and Directorate? Rachel’s own sons moving up each of those party’s ranks? Don’t tell me that doesn’t seem convenient. And beneficial to Ryan Enterprises, among other things.”
Pieces of a vast puzzle were sliding into place inside Noah’s mind. He’d always wondered why Iggy was part of Panel, regardless of the empires he’d built. Noah liked the man, but his talents had always seemed peripheral, central to nothing. Now he was seeing something he’d been blind to before.
“Did you have something to do with For the People’s PR? Or O’s? Or…Rachel’s?”
“You tell me, Noah. You’re the one who asked if you could pick my brain.”
Noah’s head cocked, more pieces slotting into place.
Before he could speak, Iggy smiled and said, “Or maybe it wasn’t actually your idea after all.”
“What’s in this for you, Iggy?”
The tall man shrugged playfully, his faux-serious demeanor evaporating in an instant. “I get to change the world. Not many people get to do that.”
“So what’s my story?”
Iggy became thoughtful. He moved to a chair and sat on its arm. One long finger went to his chin.
“What you said before,” he began. “About being a digital being?”
Noah nodded.
“You were talking about how a person would have to leave the physical world to enter the digital one. To die.”
“That’s the idea behind Mindbender. Copying minds to digital form, so people could still live after their body dies.”
“As a brain in a vat,” Iggy said.
“With the new network, it’s a bit more than that.”
“With whatever is next.”
Noah nodded again. “Crossbrace won’t support anything like it. It’d only be bandwidth on Crossbrace. There’s nothing emergent there, so there’d be no room for emergence. No precedence.”
Iggy seemed deep in thought. Then he said. “You’re sick, Noah.”
“It’s not sick. It’s visionary.” Noah could hear his own defensiveness.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said, waving dismissively. “I mean that’s part of the story: that you’re sick. Right now, nobody knows about your tragic illness, but in a few years, I’m sure it’ll come out. It’ll be leaked. You’re terminal, actually. Beyond the ability of life extension treatments to help you.”
“Terminal?”
Iggy shrugged. Noah waited while he scratched his cheek thoughtfully, trying to hold down the disturbing feeling the word “terminal” had dredged up inside. The idea of dying and moving into digital form had been Noah’s own, but he was still young, and the plan was more long term than that: to record his life then pass on at the end — not into nothingness, but into a digital Heaven. Iggy’s idea sounded more immediate. But still Noah tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, willing to hear what the storyteller had in mind.
“Okay,” Iggy finally said. “Here’s what I’m thinking. This can’t just be about you, obviously. But you can and should be at the center of it. You’ll need to be a reluctant hero, seeing as
your normal personality is so repugnant. You have the world’s attention now, but you’re no Clive. Smile for me, Noah.”
Noah felt caught off guard but smiled anyway.
Iggy made a face. “Exactly. You look like you’re ready to eat babies. Your public image is shit, and you’re just not attractive enough. Steve is even worse, and it’s not like you could let him out from under his NDA now because that’ll make you look terrible. So ‘tragic genius’ is our best chance. That’s the center of it all. But what’s the bigger story?”
“No idea.”
Iggy didn’t seem to hear him. He wasn’t asking; he was thinking aloud.
“How about manifest destiny? Is that too played out?”
“You mean arguing that the NAU deserves to rule the whole world?”
Iggy shook his head as if Noah had made an argument rather than asking a question.
“You’re right. Too hegemonic. But Crossbrace is NAU-only, so The Beam would be NAU-only too, right?”
“It has to be. Their networks in the East are in such terrible shape, it’d take too much to get them up to speed. Not to mention their puppet governments.”
“Okay. Well, we’re already calling them the Wild East. That was a great idea.”
“Whose idea?” Noah asked.
But Iggy was rolling. “So the Wild East gets wilder. We won’t even need to create footage; drones are providing plenty of videos of genuine atrocity. Did you know they have a guy over there named Petra the Cannibal?” Iggy didn’t let Noah reply. “Anyway, keep demonizing the East, no problem. They don’t deserve Crossbrace or this new thing. No reason to feel bad about it. And the humanitarian groups? I know some character assassination stuff we can do. And I’ll talk to NPS. Get public sentiment in favor of doubling down inside the borders. But we…”