by Denny Taylor
“‘No,’ my grandmother said, muttering ‘You cannot stay here.’
“‘Please,’ I pleaded, refusing to give up. ‘Just one day?’
“‘No!’ my grandmother shouted, angry with me for putting her in such an impossible position. She was silent for a moment and then spoke quietly, ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said.
“‘I’ll keep out of your way,’ I said, beginning to cry again. ‘Please! Let me stay!’
“‘One day!’ my grandmother said. ‘One day!’ she said, as she walked out of the kitchen. ‘But tomorrow morning you go!’”
X-it looked at Word and Cat. The telling of his dream visibly shook him.
“I’m the boy in the storm looking for my mother and father and lost dog,” X-it said. “I feel safe and I’m enjoying being taken care of by my grandmother –”
“Et,” Word and Cat said together.
“Et,” X-it repeated nodding his head “– wanting to stay in the room that had become a sanctuary, knowing I couldn’t stay, knowing I must leave –”
“You were reliving your traumatic memories of losing your mother and father and your dog Max, and Word and your fear of dying,” Cat said.
“– and avoiding,” Word said, “what you fear is going to happen next.”
“You said you had two dreams,” Cat said, wishing Et would return and worried that if they dwelled too long on the meaning of X-it’s first dream he might think thoughts that might alert the A-I and the Sick-Reapers.
“Yes,” said Word said, smiling at X-it. “Tell us about your other dream.”
“This dream kind of picks up where the other one left off,” X-it said, glad to be storytelling again, even though neither of his stories had happy endings.
“I was in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk and eating cookies and my grandmother walked back into the room,” he said. “She’d put on a long blue cotton dress over her layers of night flannel and in her hand she carried a stout stick. She was smiling and she spoke to me as if there had been no argument.
“‘The pots are cooking nicely and the dishes are all clean,’ she said, ‘Come on. Now that the work is done we can go for a walk.’
“I got up from the table and followed her out of the kitchen door and down the stone steps that led into the meadow,” X-it said. “She took me on a tour of her gardens, pointing things out to me as with her stick.
“‘Now over there,’ she said, ‘are butternut trees, and just beyond the barn is an orchard. There are lots of apples this year. Bears like to come out of the woods and shake the trees. They eat the apples that drop. Some they leave for the raccoons.’
“She talked on and on, and I trotted along besides her listening to her as she tried to fit five hundred years of history into a single sentence.
“‘Just beyond those rocks is a fresh water spring,’ my grandmother said. ‘Five gallons of water a minute – more than enough for a thousand years. Even if we had no rain at all that spring would never run dry. Later on I’ll show you the beaver pond. It’s one hundred and fifty years old, same beaver family, one generation follows another.’ Suddenly she stopped walking and frowned at me. ‘You should have gone today,’ she said. ‘I should not have let you stay.’
“‘What do beavers do in the winter?’ I asked, taking a few steps, walking ahead of her, hoping she would answer my question and forget that she had told me I had to go.
“‘Don’t change the subject,’ she snapped.
“I stopped abruptly and looked back at her. She was breathless from hurrying to catch up with me. ‘There’s a world out there and you don’t know anything about it!’ I shouted at her.
“‘Know? Of course I know!’ my grandmother shouted. ‘But I’m too old to argue with a bothersome boy,’ she said.
“‘And I’m too young to argue with you,’ I shouted back.
“My grandmother laughed and sat down on a rock. ‘Anger eats you up and makes you frail,’ she said.
“I lay down on the grass beside the rock where my grandmother sat,” X-it said, “and there we stayed. Not speaking very much. Just glad to sit quietly and think about our lives and the strange events that had brought us together, a tiny old woman and a big strong boy, past and present, hoping for a future but knowing there might not be one.”
“If we can’t go forward we might have to go back,” Et said, sitting on her chair with her hands in her lap.
“How far can you see now?” Word asked, glad that Et had returned and hoping that she’d fixed everything and once again could see the future.
“Nothing beyond this split second,” Et said. “But I can still see back. X-it’s second dream reminded me of Montaigne’s ancestral home. There were bears in the region and beavers in the nearby river, and of course there were apple orchards.”
“In some ways it was a hopeful dream,” Word said. “It was about life, living, the pots cooking nicely, always having food, the spring that would never run dry, always having water, arguing and then being peaceful, at one with nature, not in opposition to it –”
“Like Montaigne,” said Cat.
“Strange,” Et said. “I keep thinking of Antoinette de Louppes de Villanueva – she was – Michou’s mother. She outlived her son and her family had survived the Spanish Inquisition, authoritarian religious intolerance, and racism. In some ways the sixteenth century was like the twenty first century but without the threat of extinction.”
No one spoke.
“It might not be the end,” Word said, noticing that Cat had lost nearly all her fur and was completely covered in sores that were oozing.
“I’d like to think so,” Et said, hunched over on her chair. Her Old Crone hands more twisted and claw-like than they had been before. “Like X-it, I don’t want to leave the split second, but time’s up and we still don’t have a plan for what to do next. We must find a solution.”
Twenty-Eight
“I went back to New York City,” Et said, glancing at X-it, and her eyes resting on Word, who was sitting with Cat on her lap. “It was eerily quiet and there were candles everywhere – Bryant Park, Union Square.”
“I thought everyone would be stuck in the split second with us,” Word said.
“They are – but a split second is just that,” Et said, smiling. “For us – inside this room – it might seem like a very long time, but it’s not – it’s just a momentary ripple in the spacetime continuum. No more than an imperceptible hesitation in striking a match to light a candle.”
“Do they know what happened to me?” Word asked.
Et shook her head. “They don’t know the Sick-Reapers caught you or that you almost drowned in the Hudson trying to get away,” she said. “The clampdown on dissidents is the reason there are no people on the streets. They come out with a lighted candle and a forbidden poem or drawing and place it with all the other poems and drawings and then quickly disappear.”
“That’s how we were living when the Sick-Reapers caught me,” Word said. “People are in mourning for their loved ones and the lives they’ve lost. So sad. I keep thinking about the Field where families lived and read books that is now surrounded by barbed wire. And the buildings that became books now with most of the writing washed off.”
“Cities implode,” Et said. “Petra did.”
“Did you see anyone at all?” X-it asked, trying to remember what he knew about Petra – Pliny the Elder, the Roman naturalist, wrote about it and the caravan trade in the first century AD.
“It’s exactly as it was when you left,” Et said with a nod, her eyes giving away that she had read his thoughts. “The city is on high alert and there’s a curfew. Kennedy, LaGuardia and Newark airports are all closed. There are no subways running. No buses or taxis either. No cars. Not one person on a bicycle. Militias are patrolling, but it wasn’t possible to tell who’s in charge of them – if anyone is in charge.”
“Do any of them have the Ginger Tom’s insignia?” Word asked.
“No insignias
at all,” Et said. “What must be really frightening for people is that the Sick-Reapers are everywhere looking for anomalous situations and committing appalling acts. Doing anything out of the ordinary is a death sentence,” Et said, shaking her head. “That’s why there are no people on the streets. I think the candles are –”
“Is it possible it’s because of the split second?” X-it asked, interrupting. “Could it be that life goes on when we split time and separate the past from the present and the future –” X-it looked at Et.
“You’re very clever X-it,” Et said. “Splitting time is a phenomenon that can have lethal consequences. And the risks to people – all humanity – are very great –”
“My fault,” Cat said, shedding and oozing. “I dropped Word on Et’s doorstep. Still don’t know how X-it got here.”
Cat gave Word a piercing look, and Word gave X-it a look that was totally incomprehensible. X-it shrugged. “Don’t ask me,” he said, shaking his head.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Word said, looking at Et. “Doesn’t matter how we got here,” she said to Cat and X-it. “Whatever has happened in New York City is not our fault. There is no split second effect in New York City. If there were it would be a cause-effect Cartesian phenomenon and we reject that possibility. Also it would also be a case of gaslighting – when something goes wrong people are blamed and then they blame themselves and we reject that as well.”
“You’re right,” X-it said. “I just thought –”
“You know enough about gaslighting not to ask Et that question,” Word said.
“Gaslighting?” Cat asked, a little more furry, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What’s gaslighting?”
“Gaslighting is mind manipulation,” Word said visualizing the definition she’d read. “It’s when information is twisted or spun, or selectively omitted, or false information is presented, making people doubt their own memories, perception, and sanity.”
“How’d you do that?” X-it said, not really asking, but smiling at Word. “You’re a walking dictionary.”
“Could apply,” Et said, “except a fundamental part of gaslighting is the intent to do harm, which applies to the political masters and the Lunatic Eight but not to Death or to you so it’s not the case here.”
“D’you think it might help if X-it shared his research on existential risk and the Lunatic Eight?” Word asked, feeling bad that she criticized him.
“X-istential,” Cat said, her sores gone. “Get it X-it?”
“Of course he gets it,” Word said laughing. “That why he kept his childhood name!”
“X-it,” Et said, “It’s time to speak up. Tell us what you know. Maybe it will help.”
“Better mooch,” X-it said, smiling at Cat.
“Thanks,” Cat said. “It’s been a while. I’ll try to stay awake this time.”
“You won’t want to sleep when you hear what I have to say,” X-it said.
“Going in,” Cat said, entering X-it’s consciousness. “Wow!” she said, echoing in his head. “They sure messed things up in here!”
X-it put his hands each side of this head and groaning, dropped to his knees on the rug in front of the Fire as flames shot up the chimney.
“Just kidding,” Cat said, watching from her comfortable seat on Word’s lap.
“Me too,” X-it said, laughing.
“Enough!” Et said. “The Fire thought you were serious.”
“My fault,” Cat said. “But I actually was making sure X-it hasn’t been hacked. No A-I’s.”
“I started studying existential risks round about 2014,” X-it said. “Since the big storm in ’08 I’d been obsessed by the ‘what-if’s’ – What if the Sick-Reapers are around the corner? – What if we get stopped? – What if they catch Word?” X-it looked at Word and the pain etched on his face brought tears to Word’s eyes.
“You kept me safe since I was eight,” she said quietly “for fourteen years as the political masters and the Lunatic Eight became more and more maniacal.”
“That’s for sure,” X-it said with a small smile, grateful that Word did not blame him for what happened to her. “But they should never have caught you.”
“Gaslighting,” Word said, “Start there.”
“Gaslighting is a form of abuse,” X-it said, “used by the political masters and the Lunatic Eight worldwide to convince the people that all the problems stem from them and all the actions taken by the political masters and Lunatic Eight are benevolent and for the good of the people.”
“It’s pervasive,” Word said. “The truth is twisted. False information is given to people that’s why X-it and I made such a good team.”
“Made?” X-it said. “We’re still a team. I’ve always been interested in the what ifs of risk and Word has always been interested in finding the truth.”
“There are other reasons,” Word said, smiling.
“Political bosses have always twisted or spun information, or omitted or falsified information,” X-it said. “Which is exactly what they did with existential – end of humans – risks. Climate change for example was covered up – denied, falsified, twisted, spun – so at least two of the Lunatic Eight could keep amassing vast wealth and gaining political power.”
“Others too,” Word said. “Big oil companies, frackers for gas, and shale oil strippers.”
“False information was sugared with hope and fed to the people,” X-it said, “benefitting the rich and penalizing the poor. It’s always gone on, but there came a tipping point – when the ways humans communicate changed because of advances in technology.”
Cat stretched her front paws out in front of her. “People didn’t look up from their cell phones and computers long enough to realize that the machines they were using were also using them,” she said.
“Concentrate on mooching,” Word said, giving Cat a tap.
“All clear,” Cat said. “I’m embedded in X-it’s consciousness. Any A-I who hacks him will hear a series of yowls followed by two alley cats fighting.”
“Thanks for warning me,” X-it said with a grin. Then looking serious he continued giving his take on existential risks.
“We’ve been studying four billion years of evolution and we’re still mystified by life,” X-it said. “We know we have the same number of genes as a worm and we don’t know why – but we can now make worms and engineer humans.”
“Genetic engineering,” Et said. “It’s dangerous. I’ve been wondering if it’s part of the reason I can no longer see the future.”
“When you say you can’t see the future,” Word said, “are you talking about the future of the planet or the future of human beings – life as X-it and I know it?”
Cat looked at Et and gave her a quizzical smile wondering if Et would evade the question.
“Humans,” Et said, raising her eyebrows as she looked at Word. “People,” she said, shaking her head and closing her eyes. “People. The planet will go on for billions of years.” She opened her eyes and looked at X-it. “Please continue,” she said.
“Even the political masters were overwhelmed by what was happening,” X-it said.
“They were really stupid,” Word said. “Full of their own importance.”
“Power, privilege, and ignorance are a fatal combination,” Et said.
“The Lunatic Eight were different,” X-it said. “I’m not sure what’s worse – people feeling powerless because their leaders are ignorant and stupid. Or feeling powerless because the Lunatic Eight – who seized power when the political masters lost control – hadn’t worked out what would happen when their A-I started thinking for themselves –”
“And started the cyber wars,” Word said. “Machines with thoughts and feelings – most of them vicious.”
“Or what would happen,” X-it continued, “when the Lunatic Eight’s enthusiasm for genetic engineering led to hostile life forms capable of committing acts of violence both in the real world and the virtual world.”
“What was inexplicable to most of us,” Word said, “was that while some people felt powerless and filled with fear and anxiety and were shocked by the brutality, some people applauded the brutality of the A-I and hostile bioengineered life forms and actually joined in.”
“Nobody knows what a terrible time I’ve had,” Cat said, her voice once again resembling the sound of broken vocal chords heard when there is a bad phone connection “So many people dying,” she cried. “Torture. Murder. Total insanity. Digital suicide. Malfunctioning programs. Software errors. Ha! Ha! – Oops! Unintended consequences. Autonomous systems – acting independently. Robots. Artificial Intelligence hostile to biological intelligence – running amok all over the world. Hacking essential systems and causing catastrophic accidents. Accidents? Ha! Ha! Not likely! Humans down! Women down! Children down! Deliberately exterminated. Mass fratricide. No one’s in charge! Where’s Dr. Strangelove? A-I – acting autonomously – commandeering unmanned weapons. BOOM!”
“Cat!” Et said.
“Shhh. You’ll have no fur left.” Word said, trying to sooth Cat. “It’s okay.”
“No! It’s not okay!” Cat said, totally breaking up. “My nerves! They’re also creating living things. Ha! Ha! Boogeymen coming to get us! They can make them! Adding genes from other organisms. Frankenstein’s alive! He’s growing living organisms in fermenters. Neural mapping – implications beyond people’s grasp. They don’t know Sick-Reapers are genetically modified! Or do they? Wicked! Evil!”
“Cat!” Et said. “Calm down!”
“The Ginger Tom was ignorant,” Cat shouted. “A buffoon. He was building an empire, branding people, making them in incubators, exploiting human behavior, and amassing a fortune from their sick tendencies and unfortunate vulnerabilities. It was an outrage, outrage. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.”
Cat looked as if she’d been electrocuted and she spoke quietly as if sharing a terrible secret. “Freaky Geek, Posh Boy, all the Lunatic Eight collaborated with the political masters. They privatized war for their own profit – until the A-I and the Sick-Reapers decapitated the Ginger Tom and all the rich loonies.” Cat started yowling. “Now there are no rules! Mutants and machines will decide our existence! And our demise! –” The frazzled feline was turning in circles chasing her own tail when she suddenly stopped and looked at Word and X-it.
