Complete Atopia Chronicles

by Matthew Mather

  He was wandering around the periphery of my apartment, staring outwards at the projected spaces of my growing business in the multiverse world of New London.

  My new offices had been designed by one of the most sought-after interior metaworld designers. The glass walled space was floating in air, suspended above an almost endless array of cubicles housing renderings of my splintered parts, sub–proxxi and other synthetic beings and bots that were spawned outwards from my own cognitive systems. It was thousands of me working for me.

  “Business is very, very good,” I replied, grinning widely. I wanted to tell him I’d found a back door to Infinixx, and could now splinter as much as I liked, but I couldn’t tell anyone that. I’d already paid off our family mortgage and was well on my way to amassing a sizeable personal fortune.

  Vince wanted something, I could tell, but had an air of desperation surrounding him. My ego was flattered that one of the richest people in the world would make a personal house call for a favor from me, but his nervousness made me nervous. I didn’t like the way he was looking at all the activity below us.

  I wondered what could be making him so jumpy. He had all the money in the world to burn as far as I could tell.

  “Yeah, I’d noticed you’d amped up your Phuture News services pretty dramatically,” he said carefully, “but that’s not why I’m here. I’ll just send you the details of what I need right now. I can see you’re a busy man.”

  A description of a financial event was uploaded and instantly analyzed by one of my splinters.

  “You want me to what?” I exclaimed. “You know this is going to look suspicious, especially with me working for Infinixx.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you don’t work for them anymore.”

  I stopped fidgeting and stared at Vince, wondering how much he really knew. “Yeah that’s right, but it will still look odd.”

  “You wouldn’t be making any profit off this, and nobody will know,” he explained. “I know it seems crazy, but if you could do this for me, and keep it quiet, I can pay you an awful lot of money. I need you to dump all that stock and chalk up a huge loss for me, and I need you to do it from New York.”

  I could see Vince had ulterior designs afoot, and that was fine with me. He was offering a princely sum for almost no work. So this was what it was like to be in with the big boys. I didn’t care what he was up to and it didn’t look illegal—at least, my end didn’t.

  “You be careful,” said Vince after a moment.

  “It doesn’t look like there will be any problems with this transaction, Vince, in fact…”

  “No, not with that,” he said simply, stopping me in my tracks, “with what you have going on here.”

  “There’s nothing going on here.”

  We both stood and stared at each other.

  He sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “No problem, Mr. Indigo,” I replied immediately, shrugging, and I offered my hand to shake. He shook it, smiling weakly, and then flitted off without another word.

  Wally materialized facing me on the white couch in my apartment. A dense security blanket shimmered around us like sparkling neon plastic wrap.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  Wally knew both as much and as little as I did. He shrugged and shook his head.

  “Listen, Wally, I’m suddenly feeling very nervous. We have a great thing going here, but we need to protect ourselves.”

  Being splintered into a hundred pieces was great for business, but it was taking a toll on my mind. Focusing on the market all the time left me a little stunned when I returned into real space, and I was letting details slip more and more often.

  On the other hand, I felt like I was approaching some new kind of state of being, a perfectly self-sufficient and self-contained human being. I spent all day talking with various parts of myself, and held forth on meetings of mind with dozens of my splinters at a time. The only distinctly different entity I spoke with was Wally, who was basically a copy of me anyway. Vince and Bob were the first real humans I’d spoken to in days, perhaps even weeks now.

  “Wally, when I’m off in the cloud, I need you to protect us here. I need you to make sure we’re safe, okay?”

  He looked at me steadily and replied, “Sure thing, boss.”

  We looked at each other for a few seconds. With that I flitted off to New York to get working on Vince’s project.

  If I didn’t need anyone else’s help anymore, I definitely didn’t want anyone interfering. More than anything, though, I absolutely didn’t want to get caught.

  10

  Identity: Nancy Killiam

  THE LAST FEW weeks had been a compressed explosion of frenetic activity at Infinixx. Our hundred or so team members had managed to output the workload of a thousand, and then two thousand, workers compared to outside levels of productivity. We touted our accomplishments almost hourly as the launch date arrived. The world’s business community couldn’t wait to get their hands on it.

  Building out the platform itself had been fairly straightforward once we had the core in place. A bigger struggle than the technology had been all the internal Atopian politics.

  Since I was pushing to have my own launch before the Cognix release of pssi, and we needed to embed some pssi technology into our systems, the result was a messy cross-licensing arrangement. I had Aunt Patricia on my side, but it had still been a fierce fight.

  “Give me one good reason we should let this happen,” fumed Dr. David Baxter at the Cognix meeting when we’d finally gotten it all approved.

  He’d been steamed since Infinixx would be stealing some of his thunder as the first Atopian-platform product release, and wouldn’t be under his direct control as PR Director.

  “David, you’ve seen all the phutures Nancy presented. Almost every scenario comes out pushing the Cognix stock higher as we establish this with early adopters,” countered Patricia. “You’re just annoyed because it’s not under your thumb.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” replied Dr. Baxter, and the tumult had continued as the assembly argued back and forth while Kesselring sat quietly and watched us all, sighing.

  We’d been at a stalemate when Jimmy had magically produced the trump card.

  “Okay everyone, I will give you one very good reason,” Jimmy shouted out above the arguing as he stood up, raising his hands to quiet everyone. He winked at me.

  Until recently, I hadn’t spoken to Jimmy in years, ever since the incident at my thirteenth birthday party. I felt somehow responsible, and it had been just too awkward to talk about. But since he’d been nominated to the Security Council, however, we’d been reintroduced on a professional level, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. In fact, Jimmy and I had immediately struck a close working relationship, and he’d been a big supporter of my bid from the start.

  I had no idea what he was going to say and we all waited in anticipation.

  “I’ve managed to secure an agreement with both India and China to launch simultaneously with us.”

  Gasps issued forth around the table. Getting India and China to agree on anything these days was close to impossible with new Water War skirmishes springing up almost daily. Details of the negotiations sprang into everyone’s workspaces the moment Jimmy spoke and we all dropped off a splinter to have a look. Having India and China agree to a simultaneous launch wouldn’t just be a commercial coup, but a major political one for Atopia as well.

  “How in the world?” said Dr. Baxter, his voice trailing off while his mind assimilated the back-story.

  “Jimmy, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked breathlessly in a private world I opened to him.

  This was it. This was what would make my dreams come true. Thankful tears streamed out from my eyes.

  “I just didn’t want to get your hopes up,” replied one of Jimmy’s splinters in our private world. “It was a long shot. I wanted you to focus on getting it done yourself and not have to rely on me, but, he
y, it worked.” He shrugged and smiled.

  “You’re giving up a lot here,” said Kesselring back in the conference space, speaking for the first time as he reviewed the details of the deal.

  “A lot,” he repeated, “but I can see the balancing act, and the payoff. And this will help to keep the media attention off these damn storms.”

  Kesselring looked towards Jimmy and smiled, nodding his congratulations.

  “I assume you’re good with this Nancy?” asked Kesselring, and of course I agreed.

  Approving murmurs began to circulate. With a proud look, Aunt Patricia squeezed my hand hard, beaming at both me and Jimmy.

  11

  Identity: William McIntyre

  A DENSE GRAY fog hung around me. No dampness, though, no heaviness—in fact I couldn’t feel anything. In the distance, a light approached and began filling the space around me with a soft radiance that was growing and alive. Curious, I moved towards the light. It grew brighter and brighter, surrounding and enveloping me, and then swallowed me whole, painlessly, soundlessly.

  I awoke with a start in my bed, blinking, breathing quickly, looking around and trying to calm myself down. The image of the fog was fading. Was I just in a fog, on the water? What was that about? I must have been dreaming again. I tried pinging Bob, Sid, Brigitte, but nobody answered—weird. I felt lightheaded. Maybe I’d better go and get something to eat to shake out the cobwebs a bit.

  I got out of bed and walked over to the fridge, and pulled out an apple, some bread to toast, and after a moment of thought, reached into the cupboard to pull out some instant oatmeal. I shook out the oatmeal into a bowl, poured some water over it and watched the water start to steam and boil as it soaked into the thermo-reactive particles embedded in the oatmeal.

  I watched the oatmeal, mesmerized like it was one of my campfires. This is your brain on oatmeal, I thought, watching it bubble and splutter.

  Within a few seconds it was done and piping hot. Topping it off with some brown sugar, I sat down at my counter, shining the apple on my pajama pant leg. I smelled burnt toast. Am I having a stroke? The toast popped. Oh right. Calm down.

  I wondered what was new in the future this morning, so I flicked on some Phuture News Network and waited for a flood of what was about to happen. Blank. Nothing was about to happen, apparently. All that was playing on Phuture News were images of me watching Phuture News with my oatmeal before me. Must be some kind of screwy trick Sid had going again. Ah well, I wasn’t going to play along. I just sat and quietly ate my oatmeal.

  A deep chill passed by me, and a wave of goose bumps shivered across my exposed arms. Suddenly, I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself as if through a pane of frosted glass. I was there, but not there. I felt calm. All the worries I had a second ago, about work, Brigitte, money—everything was suddenly gone, and I realized how small these worries really were. I was so calm, so cold, and there was that fog again, so familiar and yet so alien. Where was I? And why did I want to know?

  My brain snapped out of it, as if wrenched from a bear trap. Whoa, what is going on? I blinked hard and shook my head, looking down at my congealing oatmeal. Phuture News was on now, and apparently the odds were that our friends Orlando and Melinda were going to have a big cat fight soon. I suddenly liked the idea of cats.

  Most people had already lined up on team Orlando, so I opted for Melinda. I always liked the undercat, and at least this time is wasn’t Adriana. As I watched, clever taunts were being devised and their viral values sized up by several off-island marketing agencies, eager to reach the Atopian crowd.

  The social storm clouds grew as I dug into my cooling oatmeal, watching the action unfold. It reminded me of Brigitte. My stomach tightened.

  I put down my spork.

  My brain snapped out of it as if wrenched from…a bear trap. Something was very wrong. I blinked hard again and shook my head, looking down at the congealing oatmeal. Didn’t I just eat that? Phuture News was now blank, and back to images of me staring at images of me staring at images of me staring at images of me.

  The oatmeal was sputtering and bubbling in the bowl as steam issued forth from it. I was standing back next to the fridge, holding the apple, about to shine it on my pajama leg. Wait a minute. Didn’t this just happen? I was déjà vuing hard, losing my grip. My chest tightened, and my breathing was labored. Jesus. I thought was I having a heart attack, or maybe a stroke. I smelled burnt toast.

  “Wally!” I cried out. “Wally! Where the hell are you?”

  Where the heck was he when I really needed the guy? Wasn’t he supposed to be watching out for me?

  “Willy, calm down, everything is okay,” I heard Wally say, his voice soothing, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. “Don’t worry Willy, everything is fine. Calm down, your vitals are way off the chart. You’re probably feeling chest pain, it’s just anxiety. Your blood stream is flooding with cortisol and adrenalin. Take a deep breath, calm down.”

  I took in a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out. My cheeks were flushed.

  “Calm down,” I told myself, “calm down.”

  Closing my eyes, I focused myself, and I could feel the stress begin to wash out. Suddenly I was lying down. Maybe Wally had helped me back to bed.

  I could see myself lying still, lying absolutely calm. What was I just worrying about? Why worry about anything? Everything was so insignificant in the big picture. My head felt like cotton balls had been stuffed in through my ears, displacing my brain, and I had the curious sensation that I was wrapped in idiot mittens, determined somehow not to hurt myself or get lost.

  In my mind’s eye I could see myself with my mother. She was bending over me, the arms of her sweater rolled up as she happily hummed some lullaby, giving me a bath in the chipped porcelain wash basin in our old family kitchen, back on the commune in Montana.

  Through streaked windowpanes, I could see trees swaying outside under wet, windy skies. The cows in the field were huddling under the protection of the ponderosa pines that lined one side of our farm. Beyond this, the dense forests stretched up into the foothills, with the snow-capped Rockies solidly framing it all.

  It was cold outside, but warm in here. The steaming water was soaking into my little bones. We were so happy together in this small moment of time, so precious. I heard the splash and tinkle of water as she lifted the wash cloth, the sounds echoing through time.

  “How’s my silly Willy?” she laughed, tweaking my nose.

  “Wally?” I asked, more calmly this time. “Wally, what is happening to me? Where are you?”

  I could sense Wally, but I couldn’t see him or hear him. Somehow though, I could feel him speaking to me.

  “Willy, everything is okay,” I felt him say. “There’s something I need to tell you, though.”

  I should’ve felt worried, but I didn’t.

  “What? Go ahead, don’t worry.”

  I felt like I already knew, even though I knew I didn’t.

  “You’re part of something special, Willy.”

  “Yeah, Wally, I know. The Atopia program, I got that.”

  “Not just that, something more unique, something much more important.”

  “Go on.”

  I liked that. I’d always thought of myself as unique, like a small snowflake adrift in the wind, floating painlessly, soundlessly.

  “You’re familiar with Schrödinger’s cat?”

  “Sure.”

  The old quantum physics thought experiment. An object in superposition can exist in more than one state. The cat in the box that is both alive and dead at the same time. For some reason Vince came to mind.

  “It’s now possible to enable quantum superposition not just with atoms, but on larger objects. Much larger objects in fact.”

  “So what’s this got to do with me?”

  Quantum physics needing a conscious observer had always annoyed me. It smacked of God hiring city workers to turn the cranks of the cosmos.

  “Wil
ly, you may want to sit down, there is a downside to what I’m about to tell you.”

  I was already lying down. What was wrong with him?

  “Your living space is contained within a giant quantum trap. You are the first sentient being to be wholly placed in a superposition state, and right now, you are both alive and dead at the same time. In a moment, when you understand what I’m saying, you will also be the first observer to observe themselves in superposition and so fix your own life or death. Before you fully understand what I’m saying Willy, hurry, and tell us what you are feeling.”

  So I was in a quantum trap. I was the cat in the box.

  I looked down at my hands and looked inward on myself, looking at myself, looking at myself… and I meowed.

  §

  I woke up in bed, alone, soaked in sweat with my heart pounding. As the dream faded, I remembered what had happened. Brigitte and I had split up, and Wally was gone now too, but I was still here, which meant that somebody, somewhere out there, was taking care of me.

  I was still alive.

  Greed had brought me to this place, and they were probably going to put me in jail for it, but I had to do something.

  12

  Identity: Nancy Killiam

  I COULDN’T BELIEVE the big day had actually arrived, the release of Infinixx to the world.

  Although our product worked in the cloud, so to speak, it still needed physical infrastructure on the ground in the form of three dedicated consciousness processing centers. These massive computing installations, all tied together on dedicated communication links, were designed to handle local processing to reduce sensory latencies.

  Each hub, for lack of a better description, was like a huge blank mind, and had to be booted up in sequence to maintain a coherent lock between them. Each required a large local power source to drive it, and we’d decided to make an event out of throwing the switches to power them up.

  At the same time as launching the Infinixx product, we were simultaneously floating the newly minted Infinixx stock onto the world markets as the Indian, Chinese and Atopian processing centers came online.