by Rick Boling
“I do,” she said with a sly smile. “You may even have heard of it. It’s called reading, and it’s pretty magical the way it injects knowledge directly into the brain. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled with the couple of dozen books you’re going to have to read.”
Secondary Education
Most of the books Aurélie and Heyoka insisted I read had not yet been published in this dimension, so they’d transferred them electronically and Sam had printed them out on an old dot-matrix printer. This made for an awkward reading process because they were delivered to me in accordion stacks of connected sheets with the punch-hole side strips still attached. I complained about that—actually, I complained about the entire process, since I’d never been much of a book reader in this life. In my first one, I was a somewhat voracious reader of science and science fiction, but my second incarnation had been such a whirlwind that, even though I’d learned to speed read, I’d hardly had time to read the newspaper, let alone thick tomes of history, philosophy, anthropology, theoretical sociology, and other subjects I had little interest in.
One exception to this uncomfortable reading exercise was a small stack of older books written by Native Americans, recounting their allegorical legends of origin and explaining the ethical mandates of North-American tribal life. These surprised me with their easy-to-grasp symbology that seemed to encompass ideals and concepts the other authors went to great lengths to break down and complicate. Not only were they more comfortable to read, they were a welcomed respite from the convoluted theoretical treatises on things like systems theory, the history of religion, the evolution of tribal and feudal societies, and the long-reverberating effects of colonialism, fascism, and so-called ‘democracies.’ The latter, I learned, instead of fulfilling the promise of ‘power to the people,’ simply gave rise to the unbridled growth and domination of international corporate power, triggering a catastrophic backlash from the economically depressed underclasses and less-democratized societies.
The purpose of all this reading, according to Aurie, was to steer me away from common misconceptions about cause-and-effect and start me thinking in a more sociologically holistic manner—to view the movement of history and social evolution, not through a microscope, but through a wide-angle lens.
“The old adage about not seeing the forest for the trees is true for most people,” she said. “It’s kind of like the difference between Newtonian physics and quantum mechanics. One is mostly observational, based on human senses and simple mathematics, while the other delves far deeper into cause-and-effect through the development of abstract mathematical structures.”
I spent three weeks reading twelve or more hours a day, but when I finished with the books, it seemed I still had more questions than answers. I did, however, notice a somewhat slow, seismic shift in the way I viewed the world and its problems. For one thing, I began to see a wavering mental picture of what the Douglas Adams character, Dirk Gently referred to as the “fundamental interconnectedness of all things.” And this brought to mind that old butterfly effect: the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings could actually affect the development and intensity of a hurricane hundreds of miles away. The point was that everything—no matter how seemingly insignificant or disconnected—mattered, even, perhaps, the influence of music on the evolution of human behavior.
Applying this more analytical, global viewpoint to the Gordian knot of interwoven problems that had devastated the world I left behind was no easy task. And I soon began to realize the vast differences in how even superior intellects—which Aurie insisted I possessed—could be influenced by the way they processed information and by their ingrained prejudices and perceived self-interests. Letting loose of the self was, she said, the first step to enlightenment. But for me, an ego-driven, stubborn individualist, raised in a society dominated by self-aggrandizing demigods, it was hard to quickly metamorphose into an altruistic, contemplative, world-empathetic parody of all I once believed to be true. Fortunately, Aurie was patient with me, taking an inordinate amount of time to explain things, while addressing my naïve arguments with carefully constructed, easily-understood metaphorical examples.
What I eventually came to understand was that things like global warming, the rise of fanatical religious fundamentalism, destruction of the rain forests, the widening disparity between haves and have-nots, plus dozens of other global crises were all tied together by a nearly invisible web of interrelated sociopolitical crosscurrents so vast and complex that even the most learned scientists and philosophers were hard pressed to sort out their underlying causes. Making things even more difficult to analyze was the fact that each of these categories had an almost infinite number of offshoots that, themselves, intertwined. So, if you tweaked one thing you were liable to affect many if not all the others.
The complexity was mind boggling, and by the time I finished reading I was doubtful that anything could be done to repair the existing damage and stop the doomsday clock from ticking.
“How,” I asked her, “can you possibly know when, where, and how to intervene?”
“We can’t know with one hundred percent certainty,” she said. “However, our computer modeling—which is light-years ahead of where it was when you left—coupled with refined versions of Ellie’s algorithmic equations, has allowed us to develop holographic representations of possible futures based on experimental interventions. Give me a second and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”
She dematerialized, then returned almost immediately and drew my attention to a three-dimensional image that appeared above our heads. At first, it looked like a fuzzy, amorphous cloud, a blob of iridescent cotton candy glowing with a shifting rainbow of colors.
“This is the web you were talking about,” she said. “And you’re right, the complexity is mind-boggling. Without the development of quantum computing and advanced artificial intelligence, we wouldn’t stand a chance of even beginning to map the intricate minutiae. The model looks solid, because at this size, the interconnected filaments are packed so tight you can’t see them individually. But if we move closer …” The cloud began to grow, eventually blotting out the entire room and surrounding us in a fog that gradually resolved into a tangled mass of colored threads connecting tiny blobs. “Seen close up, it bears a striking resemblance to the human brain with its billions of neurons connected by synapses. Here, the blobs are significant events, while the threads represent the interconnecting pathways. Interrupting or redirecting those connections can alter the outcome of individual events or even the entire network, which, in this case, means reshaping the future.”
“What are those darker regions?” I asked.
“We like to think of those as a kind of social cancer,” she said. “They’re actually areas of accumulating negativity that we’ve programmed our models to identify as potential trouble spots. The trick is to extrapolate the consequences of different ways we might attack them and alter their influence on the flow of history. Such interventions could involve something as simple as a suggestion whispered in the ear of a powerful leader, or as complicated as influencing large social, political, and environmental movements. Because of our starting point in history, we can anticipate and work more effectively with the development of the Internet and social media, accelerating innovations and communication techniques to spread new, positive ideas and beneficial technologies. One of those, by the way, will involve the introduction of Internet-based music sharing.”
“You don’t mean to tell me that pirating music is a positive thing. That damned Napster took money out of the pockets of every songwriter and recording artist on the planet, including yours truly.”
“Yes, but you have to understand that, as distasteful as it might have seemed, it was inevitable, just as was the BitTorrent protocol for sharing pirated software. As you know, the development of digitized music and concepts like Napster revolutionized the recording industry, which is why controlling the introduction and growth of those technologies will be
crucial to our use of innovative communication tools—including music sharing—as adjuncts to our overall plan.”
“So some of the bad stuff has to happen in order for the Grand Plan to work?” I said.
She shook her head. “You have to stop thinking of good and bad as separate things. They each contain the seed of the other, and together they make up the whole. Yin-yang, remember? Throughout the entire process, a balance has to be maintained, which is another reason it’s so complicated. Often, an attempt to right some wrong or eliminate something negative will yield unintended results and throw the larger plan into chaos.”
“What about things like infectious diseases, famine, war, terrorism—can’t we do something about them?”
“At this stage, very little,” she said, “other than to support and guide efforts that are or were already underway, like the charity tour, Doctors Without Borders, and many others. Artificial intervention must be handled delicately, always with the long-term goal in mind. Plus, there are mechanisms in place that make some near-future problems unavoidable. For example, famine and the spread of disease in the Third World will continue for the time being, due to conditions like drought, poor sanitation, unclean drinking water, and the negative agricultural impact of genetically modified organisms. These problems can be remedied, or at least ameliorated; however, it will have to happen gradually, in concert with everything else. As for war, terrorism, religious conflicts, and the greed-based objectives of the military-industrial complex, these can only be addressed through sociological pressures that bring about regional and international political change.”
“Terminal diseases, medical advances? You guys have to have come up with some cures and treatments”
“In some areas we—meaning the scientific community—have, although such discoveries and inventions slowed to a stop many years ago in our world with the disintegration of society. Research here at the lab, however, has continued to move ahead at a slow, but steady pace. That said, some of the things you might have hoped for, such as universal cures for all types of cancer, heart disease, diabetes and the like, did not happen. Instead, these have become manageable disease states, treated mostly through lifestyle changes and the use of implants that constantly administer low-dose drug cocktails. We have, however, made several advances in the fields of immunotherapy and genetic engineering, which reduce the occurrence of disease, and may lead to important breakthroughs in the future. It might be possible to introduce some of these therapies and treatments earlier in your dimension, however, there are roadblocks.
“For example, an AIDs vaccine became available here many years ago, but introducing it into a society that has yet to even acknowledge the existence of the disease would be impossible for obvious reasons. Only now are your scientists beginning to observe clusters of Pneumocystis pneumonia, which will become the first harbinger of HIV infection. From there, it must be identified as a blood-born, sexually transmitted pathogen, and only then will the medical community be prepared to consider methods of treatment and prevention. We may be able to speed the process up a little; however, we are talking about a major pandemic that changed the world in many ways, so we have to be extremely careful not to do something that upsets the apple cart, so to speak.”
“This is crazy,” I said. “How the hell do you expect to coordinate everything and keep it moving in the right direction without screwing up at some point?”
“We can’t, because humans are prone to what is euphemistically referred to as ‘operator error.’ But we won’t be running things, at least not when it comes to the incredibly complex detail work—the sort of separating-fly-shit-from-pepper part. That will be handled by computers. Just as cars and airplanes will eventually be driven and flown exclusively by computers, most of what we want to accomplish will happen on autopilot. The tasks left to us will be the ones that rely on human creativity and ingenuity, which are the only areas where our brain power remains superior to even the most sophisticated artificial intelligence programming. Essentially, computers will determine when and what should be done, then it will be up to us to decide exactly how to intervene. And one of those avenues of intervention will be through music.”
By then, my head was spinning. It felt like I was staring at a million-piece puzzle dumped out of a box whose cover showed only a blurry, abstract painting. There was no tranquil farm scene or mountain landscape to guide me, so I had no idea what pieces to start with. “How am I going to figure out what to write about?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “When the time comes, we’ll give you some general ideas to work with, and I’ll help in any way I can. We’ve already delineated several areas and times where specific subjects and attitudes will need to be addressed. We’ve also written programming that can translate what you write into different languages and cultural music styles, and we’ll be looking for indigenous artists in various countries to record and perform the songs. This will parallel other efforts to alter the sociopolitical landscape and influence attitudes in the public sector around the world. But you needn’t concern yourself with those things right now. First you need to finish the arrangements for your album and get together with Jimmy and Geffen on the recording date and preparations for the concert at Watkins Glen.”
The enormity of the task that lay ahead dwarfed my initial anxiety over performing after all these years, and the warm reception I was getting at the Black Orchid left me with little to worry about other than how I could possibly meet Aurélie’s lofty expectations. That worry was almost—though not quite—drowned out by the fact that, by the third week, my Sunday shows were packing the place. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Robin to figure out who I was, and I was forced to admit my identity and beg her not to let the cat out of the bag.
“Why all the secrecy and the name change?” she asked after I confessed.
“It’s the result of a conspiracy,” I said. “When I sold the company I was planning to retire, but all my friends ganged up on me and more or less ordered me to try my hand at performing. I put up a fight, but when everyone from your daughter, to Jackson Browne and David Geffen are hammering you, it’s hard to tell them all to go to hell. As I alluded to before, I want to try my stuff out on an audience that doesn’t know me, and even though my reputation is not as a performer, if you found out who I am, others might as well.”
“Well,” she said, “if you want to remain anonymous maybe you should grow some face fuzz or something, because somebody’s bound to recognize you sooner or later. And, by the way, I don’t care if you’re the reincarnation of Elvis, I’m going to hold you to that promise of at least two weeks as our main act.”
Aurie had continued to drop hints and subtle suggestions about my getting involved with Robin, but in spite of an occasional jolt of sexual desire, I’d managed to keep our relationship completely platonic. We were, however, becoming more comfortable with each other as the weeks passed, and I was even helping her out by suggesting she book artists Jimmy had told me would soon be releasing their first albums. These gestures didn’t make a lot of sense, but I still felt like I was repaying an old debt; and after Ellie started nagging me to let her come to Atlanta and check out my show, I had another idea.
“You can come on one condition,” I told her.
“Name it,” she said.
“You have to schedule a stop-over and bring Jackson with you.”
“Hell, I’ll not only bring Jackson, I’ll bring Sarah and Patsy and Geffen if they’re available. Everybody’s been dying to see your act anyway.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s one more thing. It’s really strange, but Robin, the manager at the club? She’s the spitting image of Aurélie, so you should be prepared for that. And tell Jackson, too. I don’t want anyone accidentally saying something about it.”
“Really?” she said. “That’s … interesting. Are you two—?”
“No! We’re not! So don’t go getting
any ideas. You’ll like her, though. She’s a sweetie.”
Geffen was too busy with the tour, but Ellie managed to coordinate things so that Patsy and Sarah could join them. And when I told Robin, she could barely contain her excitement. “Can I leak it?” she asked. “I know they won’t be performing or anything, but just the fact that they’re going to be here …. Well, you know.”
I did know, but I was worried about what might happen if word spread too far. “Okay,” I said, “but just to some of our regular customers. Not to the media. These folks are looking to relax for a change, and I don’t want them mobbed by a bunch of fans and reporters.”
“No problem,” she said. “I like the mustache, by the way.”
Old Home Week
Not only did Sarah and Patsy fly in with Ellie and Jackson, Sam, Jimmy, Billy, and Kenny came along as well. I expected them to meet me at the club, but they surprised me that Sunday morning at the cabin, which nearly burst at the seams with the nine of us crammed in it. My Spartan furniture collection was no match for the group, so we ended up sitting around on a couple of folding chairs, some floor pillows, and my unmade bed. A few jokes were made about my new facial hair and the goofy southern drawl I’d let seep over into my everyday speech. And after everyone filled me in on their lives since I’d been gone, we all went out to lunch at a fancy restaurant down the street from the Orchid.
Ellie had sprung for a stretch limo so we could ride together, and after the disgruntled driver managed to negotiate my primitive dirt driveway for a second time, we headed across to US-19, then down toward Roswell. We had jogged over to Old Roswell Road and were passing the club, when Patsy glanced out the window.