Complete Atopia Chronicles

This wasn’t a memory, but a painstakingly reconstructed world that I’d created. I liked to venture off into it from time to time, to sit and chat with my mentor of so long ago, and replay conversations we’d had, or at least, what I thought I remembered of them.

I authorized Nancy for access to this sensory space, and she faded into view, sitting on a pew just across from us.

“So you’re sure you want to go ahead with this?” I asked immediately.

Nancy had been pressing me to go ahead with the launch of the Infinixx distributed consciousness project, ahead of the launch of pssi by Cognix. It had actually been my idea. If it worked, it would thrust Nancy into the spotlight and bring her own star onto the world stage just as mine was fading. She could continue my work. I knew she had the inner strength to make sure that whatever happened would be for the right reasons.

“Absolutely!”

“Okay, good. I will press on ahead on my side, then. You’re keeping on top of the New York trials?”

“Yes, Aunt Killiam,” she responded sheepishly. She would always be a child to me. “Of course I am.”

“Okay,” I replied, nodding, “perfect. I’ll start a campaign with the Board then.”

She looked ready to burst, yet her eyes clouded over.

“There’s something else?” I asked.

She sighed. “What’s going on with Uncle Vince?”

The reports of his future deaths had been clogging the prediction networks for the past few days. Guilt gripped me. I’d managed to insert some clues, however, deep in the patterns we had chasing him down. He would be off around the world hunting down these clues in ancient religious texts. A goose chase, but I had to keep him busy. In the end it might even do him some good.

“Nothing is going on with Vince, nothing at all.”

“What do you mean?” She didn’t look convinced.

“He’s just, well, he’s just fooling around.”

I shrugged and looked towards Alan, who shrugged as well.

“Okay,” she replied hesitantly, “if you say so. Just tell me what I need to do to help with the Board.”

“I will. Speaking of the Board, will we be seeing you at the Foreign Banquet tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

I hesitated. “Dr. Baxter said he may bring Bob along…” I didn’t finish the sentence, looking at her. I really wanted to find a way to bring her and Bob back together, but I’d never worn cupid’s hat comfortably.

“I think I’m going solo anyway,” she replied with a smile. “It’s an official function, and those bore David to death.”

“I just thought I’d mention it.” I smiled back. Maybe I was better at this than I thought. “Now you get back to your evening!”

She nodded and squealed as she faded away.

“A beautiful child,” observed Alan, smiling at me. “One thing though…”

“About Nancy?” I asked.

“No, about what we were talking about.”

I nodded. “Yes?”

“In these created realities, what controls the underlying conditions that make the reality possible?”

I considered this for a moment.

“Just the observing entity.”

“And what happens if an organism escapes into the reality that it creates?”

“I don’t follow.” Now it was my turn to be confused. At the time, I hadn’t understood that it could be possible, but then, Alan had always had a gift for seeing further than anyone else.

“What I mean is, organisms are constrained by the physics of this reality, but what if they can create their own realities and escape into them?” He let the words hang in the air.

Alan had also been the founder of mathematical biology and studied its relationship to morphogenesis, the processes that caused organisms to develop their shape.

“If you change the body, Patricia, you also change the mind.”

I sat staring at him, letting the words settle.

“What could an animal become if it were completely unfettered by any physical constraints?” he continued, staring directly into my eyes. “If it were able to drag other observers into these created realities of yours, against their control?”

This century old question now hung ominously in my mind.

7

Identity: Jimmy Jones

THE FLITTERATI WERE already mingling with the foreign diplomats and other people of importance that had arrived for the annual Foreign Banquet. The event was being held up on the very top of the Solomon House complex, atop the farming towers in the Ballroom.

The setting sun refracted through the crystalline walls, casting prismatic rays across the crowd as everyone milled about, and strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons floated across it all from a string quartet, playing in the landing of the curved marble entryway. Motes of dust danced in the straining rays of light. They were probably smarticles.

I had Samson, my proxxi, walk my body over while finishing some last minute work at Command.