Dawn of Modern Man

by Nick Plastino

  Parker’s preferred method of Cloud navigation was with his Compass, a handheld device that he carried in his pocket. When

  he decided to switch the scenery it was as simple as pulling out his Compass and selecting a destination.

  Parker looked at his Compass and then took a second to look out at the sun setting over the pyramids at ApolloFour. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of that. He then selected his destination. Just like that, his body disappeared, slowly fading, leaving his control station cold and empty. This was a phenomenon indescribable in the real world. First Parker experienced bright white light, nothing for a fraction of seconds and then the visual tingling of another surrounding appeared out of nothingness. His feet started to feel grounded and then like walking into a restaurant’s waiting lounge, Parker was in the Coconut Crab House’s entrance portal.

  The feeling of jumping from one virtual reality territory to another never disappointed Parker, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Once in the Tom Rumford social space he scoped the restaurant from the entrance portal. He could see the white sandy beach at the edge of the restaurant and took note of the bright sun shining off the tropical blue water. He never quite understood why it was called the Crab House, when the building more resembled a giant thatched roof cabana. He thought Crab Cabana would’ve been a better name. He knew it was more than a cabana though; with large exotic wood posts that were scattered throughout the multilevel wood planked floors, it was a giant structure. There were no outer walls, just railings that separated the beach from the restaurant floor, which let in the calming fresh breeze dusting off the south Pacific simulated ocean. The room was filled with the sweet smell of coconut and warm thick tropical air. Tom Rumford was a genius, Parker thought. He’d never been to Fiji, but he wasn’t sure if he needed to. This place was more than a restaurant, there was also a huge beach and reefs to explore, and it was essentially free. Parker just lost a fraction of the energy he produced to Tom Rumford.

  Parker walked towards the host’s reservation stand. The woman working was clearly a simulation. Many times this was easy to tell. Most people that jumped around in the cloud preferred to wear an Arm Compass, practically the same device that Parker carried in his pocket, but it was just visible, like a long wrist band with a screen and controls on it. She didn’t have one, and her eyes were a light pink. Using exotic eye colors was a common way to make it apparent that the person was indeed a simulation. The other obvious way to tell would be to simply talk to the person in suspect. Simulations were programmed with artificial intelligence to perform remedial tasks, sometimes this meant filling a room so it wasn’t empty, but in the case of the Crab House hostess, her job was to greet people from the entrance portal and invite them for a meal.

  Like clockwork, simulations did their job efficiently, they knew from the moment somebody jumped who was in their space, to the degree they used this information depended on their programming. The hostess with light pink eyes, dark hair and cutoff bangs didn’t hesitate, “Parker, nice to see you. Will it be just you joining us tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent, I’m sure Mr. Rumford will be delighted that you are here. Please feel free to seat yourself.”

  “Thanks,” and with that Parker walked through the cabana towards the water. The floors appeared like they were made of milled drift wood, there were thin dark cracks between the narrow planks. At the center of the restaurant was a large circular bar, this is where the ceiling was the tallest and sloped down beyond that. In every direction from the bar the floor layered down several steps every ten yards or so. Each level had several tables along a wood post guardrail, many of which had groups of people enjoying a night out. Parker took a seat near the edge of the wood floor close to the sand. He ordered through the table’s computer and selected one large Coconut Crab in the shell and a rum mojito.

  At other places, the restaurant’s tables were capable of producing the food. The table could simply have a compartment where the simulated meal would appear after a quick download. But it was more trendy or considered fancier to have a simulated wait staff. It showed that the architect took more time developing the social lounge and usually paid dividends in the amount of guests the gesture would attract. Not a whole lot of people opted for the quickest meals possible when it came to eating out in the Cloud. The simulated human touch was preferred by many.

  Of course, these restaurants were practically machines anyways and whether it was wait staff or a table compartment, the food took less than minutes.

  Parker hardly had time to enjoy the scenery before he looked over his shoulder to see Tom Rumford carrying his meal towards him. Parker was never sure what Tom would say when he approached. Sometimes the guy acted as if he hardly knew Parker, other times he would sit and talk like an old friend.

  Tom had a good memory. It appeared that he was able to keep up with several peoples’ lives at once. He was the kind of guy that seemed to understand well many peoples’ plights. He had curly, light brown hair that puffed out on the top and was trimmed on the sides. Tom had a confident, friendly look to him, with his unkempt stubble and casual manner. He walked through the restaurant with a sort of bumbling grace. He exaggerated when moving around patrons, pushing the tray towards the table as his hips and torso followed his feet wide around corners. And then just as he got close enough to make eye contact with Parker, he scurried down the last flight of stairs with quick little steps. “Well, goud eavening Parker. Fansay seeing you heare” Tom said. He grew up speaking a Germanic language somewhere in the Swiss Alps, he spoke very clear English, he just emphasized differently.

  “Tom, good to see you as well, I didn’t know you were bringing out food these days,” Parker said.

  Tom chuckled quietly and said, “You’re one of my besst custamurs. Soo but of course I should greet you. You like to eet symple Parker. Craub, buttar, garlique. Your dreenk I am not sure about eet, but you kno whhat you lyke.”

  “Well thanks, I do like my crab. I grew up on an island where you could snatch’em up for dinner, pretty easily. Just sink a pot with crab bait, and wait a few minutes. It’s a cinch. I’m almost ashamed to say it though, but your crab is better, not as fishy, it’s got the sweet coconut taste and a buttery texture. I love it.” Parker was eager to dig into his food, but this crab was an exercise of patience by Cloud standards, since Tom’s architected coconut crab came in the shell. Which meant getting to the meat was also an exercise of shell splitting skill.

  Tom began to place the meal in front of Parker. He set down the plate that included a cloth napkin, a small three pronged fork and a pair of poultry scissors for cutting through the shell. It’s funny how things worked in the Cloud. When it came to food, it was architects that could best replicate real-world scenarios with out-of-this-world taste, those were the ones that did the best in the food business. People appreciated the time it took to design flavors and textures. And for those that didn’t care about the artisanship, it was, ironically, the connection to the real world that gave them comfort in eating something in the Cloud.

  After the utensils, Tom set down the large ceramic plate that rested in a wood tray. Between Parker and the plate, the tray had a divot for a small white ceramic dish filled with a melted garlic butter mixture. The tray had a carved out bowl in front of the plate for placing the shell, (people recreated real world problems in the Cloud, like disposing of waste, except in the Cloud, the garbage can is never ending). The plate had one large coconut crab, cooked red. The crab legs were bursting with meat. Tom finally set down the rum drink.

  Parker reached for it and took a drink from the straw.

  “Mmm – that hits the spot,” Parker said. He thoroughly enjoyed a well-made drink.

  Drinking alcohol in the Cloud was funny business. Don Wizenhunt is credited with perfecting the technique, which was extremely complicated. Simulated intoxication was by no means something easy to recreate. Since in the outside world there was no alcohol flowing through the fe
eding tube, getting drunk was a mental trick. But as everybody knows, drinking isn’t about losing your balance or motor skill. That is part of it though and early attempts of simulated alcohol hit this perfectly fine. In the beginning of the Virtual Reality Cloud, nobody particularly enjoyed drinking. They never lost their inhibitions yet could barely walk across the room. But Don Wizenhunt didn’t focus on how to manipulate the appeared physical world for an individual. He focused on a controversial method which worked similar to actually inducing alcohol and triggered the brain through electrical pulses. Essentially it took extra energy to get drunk, but when that energy was directed correctly the physical body released the same endorphins as actual alcohol.

  Don Wizenhunt perfected a method that was soon replicated for several other types of drugs. There were many social lounges in the Cloud that focused purely on a perfected high. Feel like cocaine? Try it without the side effects. Heroine or pain pills more your thing? Well there’s a place for that, too. Like getting stoned or other party drugs? Well there’s a place for that, too. As far as the UAN was concerned any innovation in the Cloud was good, especially ones that kept people in the Cloud longer, and social lounges specializing in drug simulation were just behind porno fantasy lounges for frequency of use. Peoples’ habits are constant, especially when the perceived guilt of finding pleasure in something is dissipated.

  Parker sipped his drink knowing all this. School taught him well the intricacies of the Cloud. Most people didn’t care much, they just went with the flow. People never questioned too much why the alcohol made them actually feel drunk in the Cloud, they just knew it worked and also knew they wouldn’t have a hangover. Maybe a little post party depression was common, sometimes stepping back into the real world after a lengthy stint in the Cloud was like a Monday after a weekend filled with drinking and drugs, everything seemed challenging and the body didn’t know what temperature it preferred. Hot, cold, clammy, the body isn’t sure so it will go through all of them for you. This was one of the reasons Parker preferred shorter stints in the Cloud. He felt there was an addictive attribute that was overlooked, most likely intentionally overlooked.

  Tom Rumford took a seat across the table from Parker. Parker’s seat was at the edge and close to the shore, the rhythmic sloshing of the waves

  against the white sand kept the ambiance casual. Tom had a look of concern across his face, “Whaad do you theenk of the terror-ist ahttacks?”

  Parker was a little taken back by the question. He didn’t feel it was out of place though. “I’m not sure what to think. Are those bastards ever going to figure it out? Killing is never the answer. I mean the whole idea of reproduction in the Cloud seems absurd and I’m sure it’s at odds with their beliefs. But at the same time there are people that want to do it.” Parker paused and used his small fork to pull a nice chunk of crab meat from the cut open red shell. He popped it in his mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed.

  “Yess, I theenk you and me theenk a-like on thees one. I theenk the admeeneestrashon…”

  Parker interrupted, “I actually met a girl today, Becky Carlyle.

  Have you heard of her?” “No.”

  “She is in charge of the North Mountain Academy reproduction research.”

  “A geerl? Don’t you mean woman?”

  “Well, young woman.”

  “And whhat did shee say?” Tom was genuinely interested.

  Parker thought for a moment, he just remembered enjoying being near the lake with her and what they actually talked about wasn’t fresh in his mind. Parker went ahead and did the best he could to remember. “Oh you know… we talked about what a shame the terrorist attacks were, and how, regardless of what happened there, we felt fine here. I guess I’m in a northern American mountain range. The hive feels safe. Do you think your hive is safe?”

  “Yes, the hive I’m een also ees in a mounten range. Quite possiblay the besst mounten range een Europe and it feels safe here too. But did she say anything about the reesearch?”

  “Oh nothing too specific, she seemed apprehensive about it I guess.” The question started sparking Parker’s memory about the conversation. “She seemed like a lot of us, not really knowing what she wanted out of life, but she wasn’t about to slow down to think too much about it. Or I guess she didn’t necessarily approve of what she was doing, but she worked hard to get to where she was and didn’t want to stop.” Parker realized what she thought about living inside the Cloud was directly at odds with Tom’s career path. He fumbled for a way to explain what she said without offending Tom.

  “Oh I see, she is in the rat race? Is that how you say?”

  Parker realized something he already knew, Tom was the kind of guy that went for what he liked and got it. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in grades or the VF scale. “Yeah, she is I guess. Not everybody can create food like you and build a successful business space in here.”

  “Well, not everybody tries.”

  Parker thought Tom’s English was getting better, either that or he just understood him better after gulping down much of the mojito. “Good point, but the thing is, how do you know what you want?

  “Ask yourself,” Tom said.

  “Believe me, I have.”

  “I’m sure you have, Parker. Don’t be ahfraid,” Tom said as he stood up with an air of confidence. “I have more guests to see. As always the pleasure is mine, Parker. Thanks for coming in.”

  “Of course, thanks Tom,” Parker said. He was somewhat relieved Tom was leaving. He still had a small pile of crab to work through and the night was young. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Compass. There was a message from Cadmus that read:

  Parker, don’t forget it is fight night. North Mountain is up against the Lakes Midwest Academy. The beasts are battling at 9 in Alpha Galore.

  The UAN academies didn’t have traditional athletics, just club sports, but they did have beast fights in the Cloud (they were only affiliated with the schools via student associations, like a Greek House). The beast fights were for bragging rights and North Mountain Academy had the meanest beast around.

  Parker looked down at his meal and cut into one of the three remaining crab legs. He slipped a nice fat chunk of crab out and dipped the finger sized piece of meat into the garlic butter, dabbing it around until it was fully covered and then devoured it, the sweet hint of coconut accented the rich meat and butter combo well. Parker finished his meal, took a moment to appreciate the view as he finished his drink and decided to set a jump for Alpha Galore, the Academies Arena.

  The arena was an inter-fraternity architected social lounge. It was a space designated for intercollegiate gatherings. It was most popular as a battle ground for artificially intelligent beast to fights.

  C H A P T E R 7

  Alceon Fudore wasn’t pleased to hear about the terrorist attacks. The last thing she needed was some sort of media campaign smear against her agenda. Ms. Fudore felt the attacks and outrage in the religious community were somewhat expected, she just didn’t realize to what extent. Alceon had a disdain for religious terrorism, she looked at them as savages.

  Alceon was pacing around her quarters in the Adirondack building. She knew the announcement was controversial, she didn’t anticipate 306 deaths would come from it, which was a bit of a problem. She also knew that this stirred up a lot of hate with people. Hate is a powerful emotion. Alceon knew that hate could be channeled into momentum for the cause. Emotion can be channeled into action. Peoples’ minds were open to persuasion. Alceon knew this all too well.

  Alceon had experience in the political world, when she worked for the State Department her duties included forming media strategies to promote America abroad. Her time at the Mediterranean Embassy taught her many tricks of the trade. She worked under the appointed Ambassador, Lucas Tar, who was a bit of a politician himself and showed her the ropes when it came to propaganda. He promoted her to head of the media communications department.

  At the time, during the 2050’s
, President Hafferschaff enacted a trading embargo that enabled force to be used to prohibit weapons trading between Sub-Continental Africa and the Mediterranean zone. The No Weapons Trading Act was popular in America. The No Weapons Trading Act was a piece of American legislation enacted in 2052 that prohibited the trade of weapons to countries incapable of producing the technology themselves. The bill was construed to give major leeway on the interpretation of who was capable of developing what. For instance, Congo was incapable of importing or producing mystellium which meant they couldn’t manufacture Sporadic Electrical Decimation bombs or SEDs, so therefore they didn’t get to buy them from companies that could. Another example would be Zambia and their inability to obtain or code Cerntigistics, which could give them control over satellite tungsten weapons; getting satellites into orbit was a whole other category on the list.

  The list of countries and their weapons development level was left to an in-house committee to denote who was capable of buying what, which gave the American Anti-Weapons Personnel incredible discretion. Their discretion was believed to be the best way the organization could run efficiently. Americans, forgetful of their own faults, were tired of seeing hostile regions being supplied with fuel for the fire. Too often the news wires were littered with stories of massive killings in the jungle regions of Africa.

  African power struggles were nothing new. But at the time, an idea had formed that people who do not have the technology to develop a weapon do not possess the civility to use the weapon properly. This idea took hold. People of developed countries were tired of seeing undeveloped societies kill each other with efficiency. Thus, it became popular belief, that if a region of people weren’t capable of manufacturing the weapon than they weren’t capable of handling the weapon.