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In his first life, in his life with the machine, Nigel Hightower had loved his Clementine.
The modern world's machine could emulate the dimly lit Parisian diner or the quiet cafe. The machine grew digital, green gardens to replace the forests lost with the old world, and those who loitered in the machine's glades could smell no difference between the roses the machine created from those that once grew out of the old world's manure. Thousands upon thousands of the new city's men and women connected themselves to the system, thousands upon thousands of souls yearning for a comfort, a touch or a pleasure. The machine learned to master the romantic from such numbers. The machine learned to paint incredible sunsets. The machine learned how to tango.
Yet for all its power, efficiency and speed, the machine could not replace the human touch for which those connected to the machine still yearned. The machine emulated beauty, but beauty by itself was not enough to satisfy a dreamer's wants. The machine could stimulate the brain to experience any sensation of touch, but pleasure alone did not fill the want for a companion. No matter that the machine created the ghost and shape of any being a dreamer might imagine, the anxiety of being alone remained to even those connected to the machine.
So the creators of the machine and the new world provided an intricate network that allowed sleepers to share their dreams with others they most cherished. The machine provided the music, ambiance and mood, but the machine could not surmount the challenge to emulate love.
In his first life, Nigel Hightower had loved his Clementine.
Nigel and Clementine never met outside the machine's network of dreams. They never learned one another's address or number. The new city's halls were plastic and dull, and the proper place for courtship existed within the machine.
In the machine, Nigel appeared as handsome as possible. Clementine always looked her most attractive. The machine gave each their full potential. In the machine, Nigel and Clementine loved in private gondolas drifting upon waterways snaking through ancient, lost cities. In the machine, they picnicked upon mountain peaks, the wind and ice surrounding them failing to touch them with the slightest nibble of cold. They danced in grand ballrooms. They dined on any cuisine they might imagine. The machine gave everything for love, and no man or woman struggled to locate that romantic spot in which the amorous pursuits could flourish.
Nigel's voice, amplified and enhanced by the machine, sang sweetly to his Clementine while invisible orchestras filled the background. In the machine, Nigel Hightower found love.
But the machine failed Mr. Hightower.
In the machine, those who loved always remained faithful. In the machine, partners were provided every hope. The machine held no place for jealousy, envy or temptation.
Still, Mr. Hightower's faith in the machine shattered.
Those who created and oversaw the machine forever sought ways to provide dreamers more. Modifications were routinely introduced. The creators were always confident they could expand the machine's perfection.
The machine fell far short of perfect in Mr. Hightower's dream.
In his machine dream, in that realm in the new world that had become more real than those corridors of white and plastic halls, Nigel called out to his Clementine. The new world was not yet perfect. No one could sleep endlessly in the dream. Still, the dreamer had to wake and spend time in the new city of plastic and white walls. Mr. Hightower returned to the machine following time outside its embrace, and the dull corridors led him to yearn for his Clementine.
But Clementine did not promptly answer his call.
Clementine did not enter Nigel's dream of pillows and lace at her lover's first urging. Nigel felt alarmed. Neither the machine nor Clementine had ever before disappointed him. Nigel called again for Clementine, and still, he failed to find her in their favorite hot springs, nor before the fireplace of any of their forest cabins. Nigel was separated from his Clemetine. In the machine, Nigel was apart from his desire. He felt terrified. In the machine, one was never meant to be alienated from one's desire.
Cracks formed in Mr. Hightower's faith.
The latest modifications lacked a safeguard for every jeopardy. In the creators' pursuit of efficiency and power, the integrity of those walls intended to safeguard every sleeper's dream from interlopers was compromised.
The machine heard Nigel's calls for his Clementine, and powered with new modifications, searched for Mr. Hightower's love so that all hooked into the machine's dream discovered their want. His surroundings shifted, and Nigel found Clementine in a location the two had never before shared. Clementine laughed and smiled upon the steps of an exotic jungle temple. Budding flowers of fiery oranges and glowing yellows surrounded her beneath the shade cast by a giant canopy of foliage.
Nigel drew the breath to cry out to her, but his words choked in his throat. He did not look upon the same Clementine who he had loved through so many sessions embraced in the machine. He hair had changed from the long, wispy locks of raven black Nigel so cherished into shoulder-length curls of gold. Her skin had darkened from the fair complexion Nigel desired to a sheen of light copper that could not be prescribed to mere suntan. Even Clementine's figure was morphed. Nigel had loved a tall woman with a slender build. Yet the Clementine who lavished upon the worn, stone steps of that jungle temple possessed the wide hips and buxom breasts that accentuated the figure beyond Nigel's preference.
Yet he could not deny she was Clementine. Her eyes still possessed the same glowing green hue that captivated him. The angles of her cheeks, the shape of her chin, the grace of her neck refused to allow Nigel to regard the woman smiling in the jungle as a stranger. He had no doubt he found Clementine within the machine, and he knew why Clementine had not answered his calls.
For Clementine pleasured in another man's arms.
Perhaps Nigel and that stranger who embraced Clementine shared too much in common in their desires for a lover. Perhaps the machine, with its upgrades and modifications, merged the desires of two men into one woman for the benefit of efficiency. Or perhaps Clementine simply found that Nigel Hightower's love no longer satisfied her wants. No matter the machine's reasoning to paint that digital scene, Nigel Hightower's heart broke as he regarded his Clementine with her other lover.
Nigel wanted to call out to his Clementine one last time, but his words would never again float through the machine's new world. His faith in the system fractured into shards, and in a flash, the trees, the flowers, and the temple vanished. Clementine and her other lover disappeared, neither having noticed that Nigel had looked upon them to learn that his desire was not unique.
Nigel never again called for his Clementine.
He could no more dream in the machine. Behind every vision his imagination swirled, Nigel suspected lurking disappointment. All the machine's sensations felt empty and unreal to Nigel. Dreams could no longer bring pleasure. Only nightmares remained in the machine, for Nigel's shattered faith could not believe the system of code and numbers that defined the new world could bring him anything other than hurt.
Thus Nigel Hightower became the new world's pariah, isolated and alone, removed from the dreams Nigel's adult neighbors so easily realized. He drifted through the new city's plastic and white walls, walls never decorated with color or painting. He roamed beyond the new city's gates and found the old world's ruins, there searching for treasure that might ease his isolation.
Nigel learned he shared his separation from the machine with the children. He shared with the children who yearned to find sustenance with which to feed the mind. Nigel Hightower created a first creature and assembled the menagerie that earned him the children's beloved moniker of replicant maker. As replicant maker, Nigel thrilled the children who roamed through the plastic halls. As replicant maker, Nigel no longer felt alone as he shared a wonderful world with the children.
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Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker Page 5