Complete Atopia Chronicles

Massive sand dunes sat hunched in the distance, slowly sailing their lonely courses across the bare bedrock, their hulks propelled by the same unrelenting wind that shaped this place. As they moved, they swallowed everything in their paths, but, just as inevitably as they consumed, they would eventually release as they moved on. You just had to stand still long enough, exist long enough, to be released.

I stepped slowly between the ghostly sandstone figures that towered above me, frozen in time in their mad dance together. The Crystal Mountain glowed in an ethereal purple above it all, its interior lit by a million tiny points of starlight.

It was a strange thing not being able to see my future hanging there in front of me. I mean, I could see my phutures, sense the nearness of their reality in the splinters of my distributed consciousness spreading out ahead of me, but now they all terminated abruptly. The fingers of time I’d carefully nurtured over the years had now been painfully amputated.

Where before the future had flowed straight ahead of me, like a train running to known destinations where I could just switch stations on a whim as the rails flowed past. Now all tracks ahead ended in flames. A suffocating fire enveloped me, the future choking the lifeblood out of my present. I felt trapped in the moment.

“Hotstuff, could you pop in for a sec?”

Hotstuff, my proxxi, obediently materialized next to me. In sharp contrast to the dreamlike landscape I had lost myself in, her vitality and energy sizzled into this space. She was looking extremely sharp in tight, striped riding pants and boots with a low cut, high necked red jacket. Her long blond hair fell in waves down her back and across her shoulders.

Some people liked to create some sort of alter ego as their proxxi, which was all fine for them. I preferred to have an attractive woman as my personal assistant. Plus I liked the idea of a woman driving my body around when I wasn’t in it.

“So did you hear what Patricia said the other day?” I asked as she appeared, trying not to dwell on the implications of me enjoying having a woman enter my body when I was away.

“What, that stuff about being concerned about you?”

“No, not that,” I snorted. “That you’re my airbag.”

I felt suddenly better, more protected, sensing the physicality of Hotstuff being near in this reality.

Hotstuff rolled her eyes and laughed, “If anyone here’s an airbag, boss, it’d have to be you.”

I laughed back, but then sighed heavily. I nervously fidgeted my phantoms limbs.

“Stop that,” she commanded.

She’d stopped walking herself, looking up to consider one of the limestone figures. It had a distinctly phallic shape. She turned and winked at me.

“Stop it,” she repeated softly.

“Stop what?”

I’d begun a nervous drum beat with the phantom limb that controlled my future social connectivity.

“Stop playing with your phantoms,” laughed Hotstuff, continuing to walk on, “you’re going to grow hair on them. Seriously, stop it. You’re jiggling your phutures back and forth, muddying up your timeline. Stay focused.”

I stopped and relaxed my phantoms, releasing them back to her. I sighed again. We’d reached a natural stone archway at the end of the limestone menagerie, on an outcropping above a steep drop to the plateau below. Sitting down together on the edge of the cliff, we looked down at the sand dunes spreading out into the distance, disappearing into the gathering gloom.

“Do you think someone is phuture spoofing me?”

Phuture spoofing was growing into a major business as hacking spilled into the worlds of tomorrow and phuture crackers began engineering their own timelines.

“Boss, we’ve been over this a hundred times, and I don’t see how someone could be phuture spoofing you,” replied Hotstuff. “In all cases, I’ve had specialized agents rooting through the Phuture News system and sniffers floating at choke points throughout the open multiverse, and nothing suspicious to report. To manage it on this scale, they’d need almost the same computing infrastructure as the Phuture News Network itself.”

Which would be impossible to hide, she didn’t need to add.

“So summarize where are we again?” I asked, shaking my head. I leaned back and looked up at the stars.

“So the good news is that we have made some progress,” she said brightly. “We’ve managed to plot a path to extricate your physical body from Atopia, which has given us a much larger playing field to work with.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” I replied carefully. “So what’s the bad news?”

“Well, the system is predicting about seven thousand possible outcomes for your, ah, demise in the next few days or so. Being out in the world has also opened up a lot of new possibilities for whatever is chasing us as well.”

“So that’s it then, I’m dead?” I stated sarcastically. The stars shone like steely pins, puncturing the night sky around me.

“No,” she noted, “that is not it. Don’t be so defeatist.”

I shot her a quizzical glance.