The Wizard from Earth

by S. J. Ryan

  "Never been able to get into blobbing," Matt said. "It's like going to a party to socialize, but the music is too loud to hear people talk and it's too dark to see. And no matter what they say, blobbing feels like it takes away individuality." He paused. "Not that I'm sure that I want to be who I am."

  "Perhaps we could find a chat room," Ivan said.

  "What I really need to do is talk with a friend. Let's try to find a Tier One."

  Ivan conferred with the System Overlord. A giant arrow materialized, pointing away from the blob. Matt was relieved to hear the voices and cries fade with distance.

  His course swooped over a virtual battlefield where barbarians and demons hacked with swords and axes. Matt watched limbs fly and blood spurt, and yawned. He was beginning to wonder if they were heading in the right thematic direction and whether he should just summon a search engine, when a bank of boiling clouds engulfed him.

  The mist cleared and within a void lit entirely by distant flashes of lightning, a lone avatar hovered beneath the golden star of Tier One friendship status. The features were hidden behind a stylized face mask, but Matt recognized the too-thin body, the twitching tentacles, and most of all, visible through the mask's mouth hole, the unmistakable twist of lips.

  "Hey Random," he said. "What's up?"

  Random continued staring at a cubic matrix of thousands of dark and light spheres. A tilt of perspective enabled Matt to glimpse the hyper-dimensional inferences, but he had never been able to truly understand 4DGo, let alone the esoteric version that Random played.

  Random's voice rumbled through the mask's mouth-slit like low-pitched thunder, "I'm playing a game."

  "How's it going?"

  "I might be winning. I'll know in ten years."

  "I – I was wondering if I could talk with you sometime before – "

  "Sorry, Matt. I need to concentrate."

  His silence became an oppressive wall, which was not entirely a subjective experience, as Random was a Class One System Adept.

  Backing away slowly, Matt said to Ivan, "Let's find Synth."

  He then passed regions of abstraction and concreteness, realistic and surreal, noise and music and all too much chanting. Then the virtual universe ended with a great barrier, whose stones mimicked those of the Great Wall of China. In the center were a pair of doors that appeared large enough to admit the Moon. In front waited a kilometer-long line policed by human-sized bouncers in the form of undulating white balloons. Matt flashed his access code and was escorted to a side door.

  Sentries admitted him through the Babylon Gate into Zone Aleph, and faeries guided him through the chasm-like streets and into a windowless building, and then into the featureless octagonal chamber where Synesthesia's consciousness had taken residence.

  His childhood friend's avatar had glowing eyes, silver skin, and tubes of light emanating from her skull and integrating into mazes of circuitry. It was, as far as he knew, a close approximation of how she now appeared in a secretive laboratory in the real world.

  "Greetings, Matt. I sensed your presence. You are leaving tomorrow for Alpha Centauri. It is well. I have made a breakthrough on Chan's Theorem. I fear you would not understand. You want to know if I still plan to Ascend. That is why I will not be able to attend your departure. Keep in touch. Good luck."

  Matt managed to croak, "Thanks." And then he was back on the street, beside the flower pot.

  "She seems happy," he mumbled.

  He remembered the little girl in finger painting class who had smudged a dab of blue paint on his nose and laughed and he had laughed back. That person hadn't died, but she no longer existed. Or maybe she still did, but on a level he couldn't perceive.

  "Matt, you seem agitated."

  "It's not a health problem."

  Matt stood and gazed at the streets, and then at the clouds.

  At last he said, "If I stay in the Solar System, even if I stay on Earth, I'll be running from the truth. The truth is, I don't belong here."

  Ivan waited patiently.

  Matt continued, "I know about the Singularity and Trans-humanism and everything else they teach in school, and I agree, I don't want to stay baseline human forever – how sad would that be? But things are changing too fast. Maybe I do need to go to Tian, where they'll start from scratch before they get up again to this level of technology. It'll give me time to prepare myself."

  "What about being with your friends?"

  "Ivan, you saw what happened just now. Everyone has become so different from when we were kids. On a certain level, I don't think I have friends anymore."

  "Matt, I am your friend."

  "That's true." Matt smiled. "But wherever I go, there you are. So I may as well go."

  3.

  Ivan monitored Matt's vital signs throughout the night, tracking Matt's breathing and heart beat and brain wave patterns. Matt had forgotten to specify a wake-up time but Ivan's sensors registered the movement of Matt's father through their apartment shortly after 6 AM.

  Ivan contacted Galahad, John Jackson's neural matrix implant, who replied that the taxi would arrive at 7. Ivan made trade-off decisions by identifying pro and con outcomes, assigning probabilities and point values based on past experience. Doing so with respect to Matt's morning schedule, he determined that 6:15 would be the optimal wake-up time.

  Ivan then applied a gentle stimulation to Matt's brain stem. Matt stirred and opened his eyes.

  "What time is it?"

  "Six fifteen. The taxi to the Star Seed Project will come at seven."

  Matt lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Ivan tracked Matt's gaze to a meandering crack. Matt's breathing was long and deep, a respiration pattern that Ivan had come to associate, based on Matt's previous comments, with reverie and nostalgia.

  "I'm going to miss this place."

  “I have archived photographs as well as chemical analyses of it in case you wish to print a copy when we reach Tian.”

  “I didn't mean just the apartment, I meant Seattle. There won't be enough printers on Tian to print Seattle.”

  “Printers can print printers. The supply of printers is therefore theoretically unlimited.”

  “Well, what matters is the people, and it would be unethical to print the people. Unless everyone in Seattle signs the appropriate release forms, has their memories archived, and then dies all at once.”

  Ivan evaluated the statement on multiple levels. He determined that the proposal was technically feasible but his sensors detected a configuration of facial muscles consistent with a smile, indicating that Matt was not being serious. He therefore decided not to offer to circulate petitions online and instead responded, “You should dress and eat in preparation for your departure."

  "Yes, Mother."

  Ivan's point-weighing system identified that remark as 97.6% sarcasm.

  Matt swung out of bed and Ivan measured the floor temperature through the soles of Matt's feet. Matt yawned and Ivan measured the oxygen content to Matt's brain. Matt stretched and Ivan measured muscular tension and flexibility. Matt arose, and Ivan continuously calculated the shifting center of balance.

  Matt went to the bathroom and per long-standing agreement, Ivan went into standby mode until Matt was done with showering and drying himself off.

  Matt printed himself a tee-shirt emblazoned with the name 'Seattle' partially obscured by clouds. In the kitchen he printed a cappuccino and sipped while staring across Elliot Bay. Ivan tracked his eyes to an incoming boat.

  "I remember when I thought it was a big deal to ride the ferry," Matt said.

  Consulting their schedule, Ivan calculated the optimal caloric intake for the day and said, "Aren't you going to have breakfast?"

  "I guess I should," Matt said. He printed toast and eggs, made a few jabs and continued staring westward.

  The ferry docked manually, an operation that dated back to the twentieth century, and via telescopic magnification Ivan observed the passengers clapping at the efforts of the captain, w
ho bowed in response. Of course, Ivan knew, no one took the ferry any more for commuting, it was all an historical re-enactment, today's captain having trained as an amateur after enduring months on a waiting list for the privilege of the 'thrill of the experience.' Ivan knew to define 'a thrill' as 'something that humans enjoy in an excitable manner' and left it at that – though he still anticipated to someday penetrate the mystery as to why humans would find it even remotely entertaining to engage in a manual procedure that could be accomplished so easily by automation.

  Matt yawned and closed his eyes. Ivan registered neural pathway activation that was associated with daydreaming. Ivan knew it was psychologically disruptive to intrude at such moments, and strove to avoid doing so.

  Though his host had his eyes shut, Ivan could see perfectly well through thousands of micro-lenses penetrating through Matt's skin pores. Ivan monitored two views of the apartment at once. One view showed a bare room with unmarked boxy machines. The other view showed oak paneling, paintings, and semi-transparent control screens that floated above luminescently glowing printers. The augmented-reality view was for Matt's enjoyment, the realistic view was for Ivan's ever-vigilant security scan.

  "Matt!" his father called sonically from the outer door. "On the roof now!"

  Matt opened his eyes and directed his gaze to where Ivan had suspended the augmented-reality clock in his field of vision. It was five minutes until seven.

  "Coming," Matt said, responding over the family radio comm link.

  On the way to the door, Ivan said, "Don't forget the box."

  "Right."

  As Matt left the kitchen, the house robot rustled and scooted about, disposing into the printer recycler Matt's half-eaten breakfast and the last traces of his DNA traces in the residence. In his bedroom, Matt retrieved the tiny box of mementos that were all that he was allowed to take with him from Earth to Tian. He headed to the outside door, and at the threshold, took a last look at the interior of the apartment.

  He concentrated attention on the lights in the way that neural implants interpret to mean that their host wishes the lights to be turned on or off. Since the lights were on, Ivan signaled to the house computer, and the house computer turned them off. Matt forgot to 'will' the door locked, but Ivan took care of that matter on his own initiative. It was required by the leasing agreement.

  Matt followed his father up the few flights of steps to the roof. The day was sunny and bright. Matt gazed over the city. Ivan registered more physiological indicators of nostalgia, reverie, and daydreaming. Matt searched the sky. When the taxi AI notified Ivan of its approach, Ivan imposed an AR arrow upon Matt's field of vision to point out the speck.

  "Thanks," Matt murmured. Ivan interpreted expressions of gratitude as positive reinforcement for unprompted actions, and registered this one as so. But then Matt added, "But how about we turn off all the AR stuff for a minute? I just want to see the city as it is for now."

  Ivan complied.

  Matt stood in the sun and felt the breeze. Ivan calculated the solar flux and wind speed, but knew from long experience that his host was not normally interested in such details.

  "You're quiet," John Jackson said.

  "Just thinking," Matt said.

  "We both have a lot to think about." His father's quick smile faded. "Matt, every day I wonder if I've pushed you into something you don't want. It's such a big step – literally, the biggest step there is. There's still time to back out."

  Matt looked at his father's eyes. Ivan sensed physiological reactions associated with sympathy. He wasn't sure why Matt would feel that way, as it seemed that Matt was the one making the personal sacrifice on behalf of his father. Human emotions were complicated, Ivan had long ago concluded.

  The taxi arrived and they climbed in. It leaped into the sky and ascended into the stratosphere. Ivan measured ground speed and altitude and contacted the taxi service for the taxi's safety and maintenance records. They were adequate, well below the risk level that would have prompted Ivan to warn Matt of potential danger.

  Matt gazed out the window as the pristine ruins of Bellevue passed below, and murmured, “We should print the Eastside too.”

  “I'm sorry, what?” his father asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Matt stared at the horizon ahead.

  Plugged into the taxi's external sensory systems, Ivan detected the descent and approach of the hypersonic harness. Soon its talons gently sank into the air car's gripping slots. With a jolt they ascended into the stratosphere, accelerating rapidly past the sound barrier to twenty times the air car's maximum velocity.

  Galahad contacted Ivan, relaying physiological data which indicated that John Jackson was in a state of anxiety. Ivan responded with similar data for Matt. There was nothing more either could do, so they left it at that.

  “Please continue to keep me informed of Matt's status,” Galahad said.

  “I will,” Ivan said.

  It was an exchange of dialogue they'd had thousands of times, and expected to have thousands of times more.

  With the boosting of the hypersonic harness, the trip from Seattle to central Kansas took only a few minutes. Soon the harness talons retracted and the harness flew on in search of another vehicle while the taxi glided on its own into the depths of the lower atmosphere.

  The taxi broke through a sparse cloud layer and approached a sprawling building complex that Ivan identified as the Star Seed Project main campus. The vehicle hovered over the largest building and gracefully descended.

  "What are those people in the capes and cloaks doing down there?" Matt subvocaled.

  Ivan tracked Matt's gaze to the courtyard lawn and consulted the Project Social Schedule.

  "It's the week of the 78th Annual Interstellar Renaissance Faire."

  "I've never been to that. Dad said he was always too busy this time of year, but I really think it was because Mom didn't want to go.”

  Ivan easily evaluated the statement as a conversational prompt. “Why was that?”

  “I think it was because her template disappeared just before they held the first one.”

  “I have no record of her mentioning that,” Ivan said. “Perhaps the conversation occurred before I was first implanted?”

  “There was no conversation about it. But that's the thing, Mom never talks about her template.”

  “The sentiments between a template and an archival can often be complex,” Ivan recited from an article on the subject in his archives.

  “Well, with Mom it was even worse. Her template didn't die, she disappeared. So they wait ten years to declare Mom #1 legally dead and then print Mom #2. She was lucky to get her job back, with everyone suspecting that she'd have the same issues as the template and run away too.”

  “I did not know that your mother's template ran away.”

  “I'm not saying she did, I'm saying that's what people on the Project think.”

  “Is that what you think too?”

  “I used to think that Mom wasn't the type of person to run away from anything, but there she is, out beyond Pluto.”

  The taxi alighted on the roof of the main building, and they rode the elevator to the lobby. Beneath the dynamic mobile of the Fifty Nearest Stars, one of a pair of figures waved.

  “Roth,” Matt subvocaled. “And his mutant girlfriend.”

  “Matt,” his father said aloud. “I don't know what you're thinking, but Galahad can sense your agitation and so can every neural implant within ten meters.”

  Ivan measured Matt registering embarrassment. John Jackson waved at the Director of the Star Seed Project. Eric Roth waved back and approached. He flashed a smile at Matt that Ivan calculated as synthetic, and likely to be intended to be calculated as such.

  Ivan could formulate no theories as to the motivation for that. Ivan's nervous system functioned at the speed of light but interpreting human psychology required parallel and recursive processing and conclusions could take just as long for him to reach as
for any unaided human brain. He decided to think about the matter more, later. A down cycle for his host of approximately forty years was scheduled soon. Then would be good.

  For the moment then, he switched his attention to the woman accompanying Director Roth. Ivan recognized her of course as Athena Spencer, Director of Bio-designs for the Project. She seemed, however, to become radically different in appearance every time he encountered her, and this time was no exception. She was slightly taller this time. She had chosen to appear as if she were no more than twenty years old in appearance, though in fact she was more like a hundred and twenty. Ivan contacted Earth Internet to inquire as to her exact age. It was not on public file.

  In addition to what any human could have seen with organic eyes, Ivan saw with his sensors that her muscular density was enhanced with graphene fibers and overlaid with an organically-generated metallic nervous system that could operate nearly as fast as any implant. As Matt had offhandedly mentioned, she had no implant within her brain, but the electromagnetic activity detected by Ivan indicated that her neural activity was almost an order of magnitude higher than that of a normal human.

  Ivan knew that to be the result of genetic modification therapy, but he had no idea why a human being would ever do that to herself. Neural implants were less intrusive, leaving the natural brain intact while connecting directly into Internets (Earth, Solar, Lunar, Etc.), and had far greater processing bandwidth and memory capacity. Why a human would risk instead such an unnatural upgrade was another mystery of human psychology that Ivan decided he would address during the upcoming down time.

  Ivan's analysis of the two greeters had taken less than a second.

  “John, Matt,” Roth said, nodding. “Well, this is it. Your big day.”

  “Well,” John Jackson said, “Matt's of consent age and we decided not to put if off.”

  “Yes, one of the youngest persons we've ever sent to the stars.”