by Rudy Rucker
“The submachine gun!” urged Thuy. “Get my P90 and shoot a hole in the wall! There’s a thin place near a dog-sized lump of rock on the floor. Feel around for the gun, Jayjay! Hurry! I hate how these strings feel on my fingers. The harp’s not helping me at all.”
“Play slower and quieter,” suggested Jayjay, recalling some of the theoretical ideas he’d worked out in the dream. “It’s the dissonant beats that are blocking the orphidnet’s quantum entanglement. The loudness doesn’t matter.” Thuy damped down her efforts to a more sustainable level, and, yes, the local orphidnet remained dark.
Blindly Jayjay crawled around until he got Thuy’s submachine gun, and then he located the dog-sized rock on the floor. He rapped on the wall above it and found a hollow-sounding spot. “Ready!” he said to Thuy. “Watch out for flying grit.”
He opened up the P90 against the wall at close range. The stone was so soft that the bullets dug in with no ricochets. The stuttering muzzle-flashes lit the scene: the glittery sinister box of the nant farm, the golem lolling on the floor, Thuy heroically working the shoulder-high alien harp. For the first time Jayjay noticed that Thuy’s shoes and pigtails were gone. But there was no time to ask questions, for now he’d blasted an opening big enough to crawl through. A sweet shaft of moonlight slanted down from above.
“I’ll be right back,” Jayjay told Thuy, taking the gun with him. “I love you.”
She nodded, her face wan and weary in the reflected moonlight.
Jayjay worked himself up the vent to get away from the harp sounds. The orphidnet was still in full effect in the summer-night meadows of Easter Island. And as soon as Jayjay emerged from the lava tube, the Big Pig was on his case. Fuck the Pig. Jayjay popped up a mental firewall before she could start running another head trip.
The friendly beezies who lived on Jayjay’s skin ran an orphidnet search and fed him the location of a backpack-style tactical atomic bomb in an armory on an Air Force base near Great Falls, Montana. So Jayjay teleported himself there. When he arrived, the alarm system was already hooting. The Big Pig had alerted the system’s security. But Jayjay’s beezies helped him plan his moves. Without a single wasted gesture, he used his P90 to shoot away the fasteners holding the bomb-pack in place. He memorized the simple instructions printed on the lumpy knapsack, shrugged it onto his back, and teleported to Easter Island.
A gentle sea breeze wafted the scent of heathery flowers up the slope of Rano Raraku. The bomb-pack was heavy, with plastic and metal knobs that dug into Jayjay’s back. He could feel the Big Pig working to break down his firewall. He wasn’t going to have time to find a different place to set off the bomb.
“I’m sorry,” Jayjay said out loud to the nearest moai, a noble dark silhouette against the moon-bright sky. And then he lowered himself back down the moonlit lava tube leading to the cave.
Overburdened as Jayjay was by the submachine gun and the bomb-pack, the climb down the chimney took longer than he would have liked. It was a relief to hear the harp still playing when he reached the bottom. But the music was slower and fainter than before.
“You okay?” he called to Thuy.
“No,” said Thuy, her voice trembling. “My fingers …”
Peering in, Jayjay saw dark smears on her moon-silvered hands. Blood.
“Hang on,” he said. “We’ll be done in a minute.” His plan was to shove the pack into the cave, go in after it, arm the bomb, then teleport out at the very last second with Thuy and the harp.
Trembling with haste, he jammed the pack into the ragged hole. But, goddammit, the dense plastic and metal structures of the bomb got hung up on a lump of rock halfway through—and then for five or maybe even ten minutes, Jayjay could neither push the frikkin’ pack further nor pull it back out. He wormed his hand into the narrow space, clawing at the bump, bloodying his own fingers. Shoot the submachine gun? No, dude, don’t shoot at an A-bomb, especially not with your girlfriend right behind it, but, yeah, you can use the barrel of the gun like a pick.
Jayjay pounded till the sparks flew, finally wearing away the bulge that was blocking the path. And now someone on the inside began pulling at the pack to help him—could that be Thuy? Shouldn’t she be playing the harp?
The pack dropped into the cave. Thuy was lying on her side moaning, her hands cupped against her chest.
The harp was silent, the orphidnet was up and, oh oh, it was the golem who’d been tugging on the pack. Once again the Big Pig had taken control. In a puddle of moonlight, the solidly built shoon crouched over the bomb-pack, ripping it open like an ear of corn. With no hesitation, Jayjay scrambled through the hole and flung himself at the shoon—but the creature sent him sprawling with a negligent shove. The bomb’s control mechanisms cracked and tinkled beneath the golem’s hammy fists.
Jayjay crawled over to Thuy.
“My fingers,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Jayjay. I couldn’t do anymore. And the harp is just watching. She says this part was up to us.”
“We did our best,” said, Jayjay, putting his arm around Thuy’s shoulders. “No blame. Who knows, maybe we’ll like it in Vearth 2.0. Your poor hands.” Jayjay drew out his handkerchief and tore it into strips, binding up her bleeding fingers one by one.
And now, sigh, the golem struck the nant farm a mighty thump.
The end?
No, the shoon’s fists kept skidding off the shiny box. Harder and harder the golem pounded, but the nant farm shed his blows like drops of water.
“It won’t open without antinantanium,” exclaimed Thuy, managing a little smile. “And I poured every bit of that junk down the drain at Luty’s lab!”
“You’re a genius!” said Jayjay. “A hero!”
Suddenly Thuy’s face darkened. She was staring at something over Jayjay’s shoulder, something he couldn’t see. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Is that a root hair? Play the harp, Jayjay!”
“What?”
“There was this subdimensional beetle-plant who claimed—” Her voice broke into a higher register. “A root hair! I see a subbie root hair! He’s going to put a drop of antinantanium onto the farm! Hurry, Jayjay!”
Jayjay scrambled across the floor, reached up for the harp, but already it was too late. The sides of the nant farm were—melting away. The nants sparkled like diamond dust. A cloud of orphids descended upon the nants to do nanobattle against them.
The golem squatted beside the nants, fanning his hands as if to drive the orphids away. He even tore off one of his fingers as a food offering for the new nants. They went for it; and they were eating into the floor as well. The orphids weren’t stopping the nants at all.
Jayjay noticed that the Big Pig wasn’t bothering to block the cave from the global orphidnet anymore. She’d gotten what she wanted.
“Come on!” he shouted to Thuy. “We’ll teleport back to your room. We’ll get another few hours in the real world.”
“Don’t forget the harp,” said Thuy. “She wants to stay with us.”
“Right,” said Jayjay, picking up some encouraging mental vibes from the harp herself. “We’ll keep trying to play the Lost Chord.”
“Go for it,” said the Big Pig, not unkindly. “It still might be nice if it works.”
Jayjay and Thuy landed in Thuy’s room; the harp made a cozy thrumming sound when Jayjay set her down. Outside it was raining again. A peaceful night, the lights of the city warm, everything wet and shiny. Nine p.m. San Francisco time. Downstairs Nektar and Kittie were cheerfully chatting in the garage. They hadn’t yet gotten the word that the world was coming to an end.
“I noticed some smart bandages in the bathroom,” said Jayjay, regarding Thuy’s cloth-wrapped hands. “With biopatches built in.”
“I need painkillers too,” said Thuy.
“We’ll fix you up. By the way, what happened to your hair?”
“The subbies ate my pigtails,” said Thuy, her expression halfway between laughter and tears. “And my favorite shoes. Bastards.” She put her arms aro
und Jayjay. “We had some wild times, didn’t we?”
“Better than I ever expected,” he said, planting a kiss on her mouth. “Maybe we can share one last analog fuck. If you’re up for it.”
“I’d like that. A final golden memory to treasure when we’re dipshit sims. But right now my fingers are—”
“Thuy?” Kittie was calling up the staircase. “We saw the video feed of you facing down Luty at ExaExa. You were so great! And guess who’s here? Chu! He says you helped him get back from the Hibrane.”
“Hi, Thuy,” said a boy’s voice. “I’m watching you in the orphidnet.”
Thuy winced and silently shook her head, then went into the bathroom.
“We’ll be right down,” called Jayjay. In the background, he ran an orphidnet check on the cave beneath Easter Island. The nants had grown to a seething ball several hundred meters across, too big to erase with any bomb. Too late to call in the Air Force.
The only thing to do was to sit down at the harp and start trying to play the Lost Chord. But the prospect seemed so hopeless. Why not enjoy the last few minutes of real life that he and Thuy had?
Jayjay helped Thuy dress her wounds, patched his own fingers, and then the two of them went downstairs to visit with the others. Keenly aware of impending doom as Thuy and Jayjay were, everything felt classic and heavy and for-the-ages.
The garage was all lit up, a vintage car-buff scene. Nektar was admiring Kittie’s retrofit job on the SUV; to finish it off, Kittie had painted a gorgeous wraparound image of a woman’s head being diced into cubes by the car’s front grill—and reassembling itself at the rear. It was a mural of Thuy going through the grill in the office wall of that dough-faced bully, the guy whom Gladax had later killed with a poke to the brain—Jayjay couldn’t remember his name. His real life memories were buried under sixty years worth of bogus crud.
A bright-eyed boy with brown hair was expressionlessly polishing the SUV.
“This is Chu,” said Thuy, giving the boy a sharp pat on the head. “He and his father left me to die. And, Chu, this is my boyfriend, Jayjay. Show some manners and say hello. Did your dad make it back? Where is he?”
“Ond went to see Jil on her boat,” said Chu in his flat voice. “He loves Jil instead of Nektar.”
“Which is quite all right with me,” said Nektar, tossing her thick fall of hair. “I’m happier with Kittie. Don’t worry Chu, Mommy and Daddy will be good friends. I just wonder what we’ll do about our house. I’d like to stay here, but I don’t want Ond moving in.”
“So Jil really broke up with Craigor?” mused Jayjay. He felt just a tiny bit jealous of Ond, although of course that was crazy, and he should be completely happy and satisfied now that he had Thuy again. Not to mention how ridiculous it was to be so self-centered when the whole freaking planet was being munged into nanomachines.
“Craigor’s up the hill with Lureen Morales,” said Kittie with a laugh, happy with her cozy, human-scale life. “The Founders action never stops!”
“We’re in a live soap opera,” Chu said to Thuy. “I don’t like that.”
“Founders pays us very well,” said Nektar. “You’ll get used to it, Chu. Everyone is going to love you.”
“I don’t think so,” Chu said in a sulky tone and went back to polishing the SUV.
“So, what happened on Easter Island?” said Kittie. “You guys dropped out of sight in that cave and then—oh no. Look at the orphidnet news.”
“We know,” said Thuy. Easter Island was almost gone. The nant blight had grown to ten kilometers in length.
“Nants!” shrilled Chu. “Let’s jump back to the Hibrane, Thuy. You come too, Nektar. And someone tell Ond. I still know my special Knot. Pay attention, Nektar, I’m messaging you the jump-code. Do you need it again, Thuy?”
“I don’t like the brane-jump,” said Thuy. “Those bird-men we saw—they’re subdimensional killer plants. They almost ate me alive.”
“You were silly to stop flying,” said Chu. “I’m gonna jump to the Hibrane right now.” He squeezed shut his eyes.
But now a ghostly, glowing giant came poking into the garage. He ran his hand through Chu’s head, distracting the boy from his jump. It was Azaroth, not looking so friendly anymore.
“You can’t come to the Hibrane,” the Hibraner told Chu. “Not with the nants loose again. If you go there now, I’ll bring you right back.”
“I will too jump,” Chu cried. “I’ll jump after you’re gone. I have the code.”
“Your code’s not gonna be working much longer, kiddo. We’re changing the angle between the branes. Very vibby. All the Hibraners are teeping together and pushing your world’s timeline away from ours.”
“But why?” wailed Chu.
“You guys have ruined one planet, and that’s enough.” Azaroth glared over at Thuy. “You know, I went to a lot of trouble convincing Gladax to let you borrow her harp. I even had to promise to have tea with her every afternoon for the next three months. And now I come here and you’re not even trying to play the Lost Chord. Losers. I need to bring the harp back to the Hibrane before it’s eaten by your filthy nants.”
“We are trying to use the harp,” said Jayjay, uncomfortably realizing he sounded as petulant as Chu. “It just doesn’t look that way. I’m waiting for inspiration instead of wearing out my fingers with random strums. I already know what the Lost Chord should sound like; I had a dream in virtual reality.”
“Virtual reality is weak bullshit,” exclaimed Azaroth. “Don’t you understand that yet? The magic harp is real.” The Hibraner shook his head as if disgusted by Jayjay’s folly, then relented a bit. “I’ll tell you what, since Thuy’s a friend, I’m not gonna repossess the harp for another fifteen minutes. But I have to be outta here before Gladax and the gang change the jump params. Play the frikkin’ Lost Chord, Jayjay! Unfurl the eighth dimension!”
“I want to go to the Hibrane!” screamed Chu, getting up on the SUV’s hood and flailing at Azaroth’s insubstantial face. “I hate the nants!” He slipped and fell to the floor, leaving a scuff-mark on the car.
Nektar crouched over Chu, comforting him. Kittie was in a blank-faced state of panic, mechanically rubbing the scuff off the hood while watching the orphidnet disaster news in her head.
“Let’s go to my room,” Thuy murmured to Jayjay. “I’ll inspire you.”
Upstairs they locked the door behind them. They undressed and began making love. They had all the time in the world. Everything was going to be all right. At least that’s what Jayjay kept telling himself. And somehow he believed it. He and Thuy were one flesh, all their thoughts upon their skins. Their bodies made a sweet suck and push. The answer was near.
Jayjay had been too tense and rushed to teep the harp before. But now—now he could feel the harp’s mind. She was a higher order of being, incalculably old and strange. She knew the Lost Chord. She was ready to teach it to him. He’d only needed to ask.
Jayjay and Thuy melted into their climax; they kissed and cuddled.
And then Jayjay got up naked and fingered the harp’s strings. They didn’t hurt his fingers one bit.
The soft notes layered upon each other like sheets of water on a beach with breaking waves. Guided by the harp, Jayjay plinked in a few additions, thus and so. And, yes, there it was, the Lost Chord. Space twitched like a sprouting seed.
“Sorry!” It was Azaroth, pushing his head and shoulders into the bedroom. He was in a state of panic. “Oh, what did you do to the harp’s painting, Thuy? It’s all scraped off! Gladax is gonna kill me.” He wrapped his big hands around the vibrating instrument. “I’m worried I waited too long!”
“Don’t go!” shouted Jayjay. “The harp’s just now beginning to work!”
“Hope so,” said Azaroth. “But I’ve got to try and get home.” And with that, he and the harp were gone.
No matter. The sound of the Lost Chord continued unabated, building on itself like a chain reaction, vibrating the space around them. Jayjay sm
iled at Thuy. He had a sense of endlessly opening vistas.
“You did it,” said Thuy. “You’re wonderful.” She wasn’t talking out loud. Her warm voice was inside his head. True telepathy. Jayjay had unrolled the eighth dimension. He and Thuy had saved the world.
Thanks to the universally accessible eighth-dimensional point at infinity, anyone could see anything now. Omnividence, telepathy, and endless memory were the natural birthrights of every being on the globe.
And this applied to objects, too. The alchemical addition of lazy eight memory to nature’s gnarl was enough to make everything aware. The air and the trees, the flames, brooks, and veins of stone—all became conscious.
The ancients had viewed nature as inhabited by spirits: sylphs and dryads, salamanders, undines and gnomes. And now the myths were true. Earth and everything in her were alive.
The ubiquitous natural minds would become known as silps. Some were like genii loci or “spirits of place,” residing in cataracts and pools, in tangled glens and groves, in wind-scoured cliffs. Silps arose in less exalted locales as well: in human hairs, in scraps of paper pinwheeling down city streets, in drapes and clothes, in elementary particles, in fumes.
With their lazy eight overview of the world, the silps readily understood about the nants. Quickly the silps copied all the data they found within the nants and, for good measure, they copied the orphids’ information as well. The silps didn’t trust any of the nanomachines. And now they went on the attack. Using fierce air currents, tiny matter-quakes, and anomalous electromagnetic fields, the silps ripped the nants and orphids to shreds. Nanomachines were no more.
With the orphidnet data intact within the silps, the Big Pig reconstituted hersef like a phoenix—finding a niche as a human-friendly interface for the planetary oversoul. The ported Pig was content to be part of Gaia. Gaia’s native computational architecture embodied a far richer system than any swarm of humdrum digital machines. And with the Big Pig inside Gaia, the global network of matter and mind had the searchable quality of the old-school Internet. Win win.