by Saul Garnell
“Ah...Walden Pond,” Henry reminisced. “Satisfaction from a one-room cabin in the woods.”
“But we know the point was not to live in a cabin,” Shinzou said while chewing. “His point was to prove that real needs were few. A form of mild asceticism that urged people to live a simple lifestyle. Find contentment in nature. Hmmm, give us a quote, Henry!”
Quickly scanning the text, Henry said, “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensible, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.”
“Precisely! And that’s why I – or we, I suppose – have chosen to live here in this cactus wasteland. To help simplify our lives and cast away things society would have us toil for.”
Henry puckered his lips contemplatively. “By today’s living standard, our little pit is nothing to brag about, but certainly we have many comforts. Electricity, running water, heating, not to mention the wide assortment of gadgets for doing our work and entertaining ourselves. If Thoreau were brought back from the dead and stood here before us, what would be his reaction?”
Shinzou laughed at Henry’s comment. “Well, we’re certainly not living like Anarcho-Primitives. And you know as well as I that your biological components require technology to remain operating. But who cares! Almost all Anarcho-Primitives don’t live up to their own doctrine, so why should we?”
As Henry was about to respond, a small chime emanated from a screen that floated on the far wall. Henry went over and looked back anxiously.
“That confirms it. The outage in Bengaluru was caused by our work in Japan. Just like Phoenix, they both show our embedded signatures.”
Shinzou ate the last bite, and began to clean up in the kitchen. Washing his plate with non-potable water, he considered what all this meant. Their efforts from years past were now becoming a reality. It was both exciting and frightening. Were they now terrorists? Shinzou didn’t think so, but that point of view would not be shared by all.
“How long do you think before someone figures it out?”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “What? Our incubation propagation virus? It took me several days to unpack and rebuild the original from the scattered fragments. And I know exactly what to look for. It’s rather doubtful that anyone will stumble across the key for quite some time, if ever.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Shinzou said, and went back to cleaning.
“But I wonder if it’s enough?” Henry said, brooding to himself.
“Didn’t you just say it was?”
“Sorry, I meant that in relation to our previous conversation. Specifically, it seems many of our predecessors have searched for better ways to either live their lives or take actions that would somehow improve society. For instance, Thoreau lived at Walden Pond to rid himself of the hindrances we spoke of and then wrote a book with some intent to change society for the better. Clearly, our choice of home location leaves little doubt that we too follow in his footsteps. But our activities to bring down payment systems – Phoenix, Bengaluru and all the others that will surely follow – there is uncertainty it will bring about any real change. Seems to me that the populace at large may never learn anything from all this.”
“It takes time,” Shinzou said. “The weaning process from consumerism and materialism will be slow and painful. We also have to see how things go and make adjustments. Perhaps the efficacy of our plan will not be apparent at first, but we’re on the verge. If our virus has spread out enough, we could soon witness a worldwide pandemic of system outages. Globally, people would be faced with a very serious reality.”
“Namely?”
“That you can’t shop and play your way to happiness!”
“Yes, but as much as I agree,” Henry blurted, “we should consider what comes next. The Freedom Club has so many members that have tried to alter society over the centuries. One must question if these efforts are all in vain. Thoreau, Gandhi, Ellul, Kaczynski...the list goes on, but one must wonder if the Club has any lasting effect or are we just wasting time?”
Shinzou walked over to a couch in the living room. He pushed aside various books he had been reading. They thudded on the ground as he sat stoically. The question posed by Henry was not only valid, but was perhaps the question he had faced his entire life. Were their efforts all for nothing? Worse, was his entire life’s work in vain? He sat silently for a few moments and soul searched before coming to a conclusion.
“Hard to say,” Shinzou said, looking up with a smile. “Claiming certainty would be both a lie and proof that I’m not smart enough to understand the limits and pitfalls of my own beliefs. Still, even though doubts remain, I can tell you this, Henry.”
“Yes?” Henry floated over close to where Shinzou relaxed.
“Apathy and tolerance of an enslaving system that can meander as it likes through society is not an option that I can accept in good conscience. My path is clear. And if I can’t understand my purpose from thousands of years of existing wisdom...well, then I am truly forsaken.”
Henry looked on for a moment. He then found an appropriate phrase to sum up his own mind. “It is not doing the thing we like to do, but liking the thing we have to do, that makes life blessed.”
“That’s nice,” Shinzou said. “Gandhi?”
“Goethe.”
“Ach, leave it to the Germans. Hands down, they had the best group of modern day philosophers you could ask for.”
“Without question!” Henry agreed. “But it is rather unfortunate that the application of many philosophies – besides the Germans, mind you – can bring about rather unexpected outcomes.”
Shinzou squinted his eyes and thought about that. There were so many examples of philosophical misuse, his mind swam about looking for a good place to rest.
“Well,” Shinzou said. “The belief in science and technology to solve all of man’s ills has until today created a great misconception. People think technology can do no wrong when in fact it has quietly enslaved us.”
“I was thinking of something a bit more horrendous.”
“Hm?”
There was a brief silence.
“Like the mass death of millions of innocent people,” Henry said.
“Yes.” Shinzou mulled over the statement. “Sadly, that too.”
Shinzou knew that death was, for the most part, an abstract concept for Sentients. Humans, of course, were typically more concerned about it because of their own mortality. It often weighed upon their minds. Unlike Sentients, who with no real age limit were less inclined to take the matter seriously.
“Do you think we will ever face a situation where we will have to take a life?” Henry casually asked.
Shinzou sat up from the couch. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Henry, somewhat annoyed.
“That’s an unusual question. Why do you ask?”
“It’s a probability in our line of work. But irrespective of that, I have never actually probed your opinion on that point. Perhaps it is wrong of me, but I am curious to know your thoughts.”
Shinzou looked back and smirked, “Well, then, the answer is no.”
“No, there is no possibility?”
“Yes, there is some possibility. But I don’t believe we need or should actively take any lives as part of our work. That sort of thinking is too radical and deters people from accepting the message. Once you kill in the name of a philosophy, there is no telling what the outcome will be. I’m satisfied with the level of social disruption our LS causes. I hope you are too, Henry.”
Henry stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. Be assured I am aligned with your way of thinking. However, I just have this suspicion that one day we may face a situation where the path of nonviolence is not an option. History proves that such is the case. Even Gandhi couldn’t avoid it.”
“And Gandhi was as nonviolent as they come,” Shinzou agreed.
“For humans,” Henry added.
Shinzou looked up again, surprised. “What
does that mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Sentients are by their makeup nonviolent,” Henry explained. “Even though Gandhi was certainly a great example of humanity’s benign nature, all Sentients could be considered equal in that respect. I wouldn’t say it is impossible. But to date, no Sentient has ever harmed anyone nor shown a desire to do so. This is not hubris, mind you. More factual than anything else.”
Shinzou lay down upon his couch and rested with both hands behind his head. Henry was right. But Shinzou figured that Sentients were still a new species on the planet. Could a violent Sentient exist? Evidence of that eluded him and he sighed softly as he mulled over the possibility. His instincts told him not to decide too soon. Time would certainly tell. But that time was approaching quickly. When it finally arrived, both he and Henry would have difficult choices to make.
Choices from which serious consequences would arise.
Chapter 7—Boiling Water
Nature is not immoral when it has no pity for the degenerate: on the contrary, the growth of physiological and moral ills among mankind is the consequence of a pathological and unnatural morality. The sensibility of the majority of men is pathological and unnatural.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
Sinking deep into a sectional foam couch, Flip watched the day’s news patiently scroll by at the Hohokam Motel near Casa Grande. On nearby walls, live feeds displayed convulsive retail-rioters lying face down on hard cement while being robotically handcuffed. A depressing sight, like the motel’s bland walls and worn-down rugs. But Flip exhibited an uncharacteristic smirk as felicitous joy swept over him. He was above it all. As Ozwald had put it, part of the winning team. So what if they couldn’t meet in person? Was it really so important? After all, everyone was depending on him to fulfill his role. Ozwald helped make that perfectly clear. And like a beacon of light through murky fog, Flip realized how important it was for him to stay the course, to attain the goals they so passionately shared.
And the poetry that Ozwald introduced to him? It was just as illuminating. Flip happily gazed down at the reader in his hands. Skittishly brushing dirty fingers over an embossed flexi, Ginsberg’s poem lay bare before him. “Howl” had become his passion of sorts. And just like Ozwald, he found it hard to put down. Reading it over and over, the poem’s prophetic verse constantly transformed before his eyes. Perhaps it was more than that. Flip almost sensed that “Howl” was written for him on some personal level. Like a message in a bottle, traveling through time and space, reaching him by freewheeling chance.
Flip found himself deep in thought for some time when the quantum call finally arrived. Ozwald’s image soon covered the wall, and as always the avatar’s reflective countenance stared back like some cryptic half brother.
“Hello, Flip, I’m very happy you could meet on such short notice,” Ozwald said politely. “Let me first thank you for all your loyal work and efforts. Everyone is very impressed with what you’ve been able to accomplish.”
“Thank you,” Flip said cordially.
“And good news! I’d like to inform you that your request to meet was given further consideration.”
“It...it was?”
“Earlier, I explained how difficult it was to meet. But there’s now a feeling that you could do more for the cause if promoted.”
Flip’s blood pressure rose with elation. It was a complete surprise. My God! The chance he had been hoping for. A higher rank within the team would let him get closer to people who shared his beliefs and values. A chance to find new friends, and perhaps even more. Was it really possible? Flip’s inner thoughts tittered back and forth as fortune shined all around.
“I’d like to offer you a new assignment,” Ozwald explained, “You’d need to leave your present job and the Union in order to come and join us at our central location. There you will lead a special project.”
Flip couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What can I...? That sounds great,” he stammered. “I’ll gladly do anything.”
The avatar held up a hand to pause any further comments. “Before we go too far, please understand that your decision will be final and binding. Once we release detailed information about your new role and responsibilities, you can’t change your mind without some repercussions.”
“Repercussions? Flip asked naively. “Like what?”
Ozwald grinned. “Should you wish to leave, a brain-boot would be administered. Needless to say, you know how unpleasant that would be.”
Flip dwelled upon this for only a moment. “I understand,” he replied cautiously.
“Well, then, if you wish to take the assignment, please confirm now by repeating the following pledge. As we have no oath per se, you need only do a voiceprint. But I think these events represent a significant act, and require something more prophetic. I’d therefore like to ask you to recite with me the following poem by Blake. I presume you’ll recognize it from our readings.”
Waiting silently, Flip stood still as Ozwald began. A supporting text prompter displayed the words simultaneously, and Flip repeated line for line until the short stanza was complete.
Oh Rose, thou art sick
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy
Finished, Flip breathed deeply and nodded in awe. The wording, though unusual, emphasized a profound meaning which was now clear. It represented a statement of the world, flawed, sick, and in desperate need of help. And the enemy was clear. This was his destiny, to save the world from this demise.
Ozwald grinned with satisfaction. “Your desire to become more involved is admirable. Let me now tell you about your new assignment.”
Flip held his breath in mind-numbing anticipation. Finally! The chance he’d been waiting for all his life. And now that the moment had arrived, small anxieties welled up. Was he worthy? He’d have to prove himself beyond a doubt. From this point on, there was no turning back.
Ozwald spoke slowly. “How familiar are you with...aromatherapy?”
Exhaling, Flip looked somewhat perplexed. “Well, I suppose a little. I’ve never been in for any treatments other than typical massage. They usually include that.”
“This is somewhat different. We need you to design and construct a floater-based aerosol deployment system for aromatherapy which must be able to disperse a number of different nano scales payloads, ranging from two-point-one to five-point-six microns.”
“Aerosol floater?” Flip said with amusement. “That’s quite simple.”
“Allow me to elaborate,” Ozwald continued. “Not a single aerosol floater. We will require the design and construction of the system as a nano-swarming platform that will be deployed in batches. Each batch must be scalable, allowing any size area to be fully saturated within a short time. This would also include not only the primary dispensing unit, but all supporting systems for replication, storage, transportation, and release.”
Flip raised his hand. “Am I free to ask questions?”
“Of course.”
“When you say scalable, what exactly do you mean? How large an area are we talking about?”
Ozwald nodded. “Well, I would respond by asking for your professional opinion. How scalable do you imagine it could be based on your experience?”
Flip contemplated the request. Though he had some ideas, he didn’t want to overstep himself. No mistakes! Best he thought to be a little conservative and avoid promises that would later prove difficult to achieve.
Flip stated cautiously, “A few years back I worked on an air-purification system that also operated in swarms. But the basic principles differ only slightly when you’re trying to spike the air with some particular payload or agent. All quite standard if you use any kind of approved propellant. But when you use other payloads like...well, I need to know what you’ve got in mind, to be
more precise.”
Ozwald didn’t answer, and Flip waited patiently as the avatar considered silently. Was he out of line? Flip worried he was asking for too much.
“Microbivores,” Ozwald finally said. “The ones developed by Takahana Nanites. Are you familiar with artificial mechanical phagocytes? Generally larger than most common bacteria, but with more robust qualities.”
Flip considered the answer and then scratched his head nervously. “Self-replicating Nanites and artificial organisms require special permits. I can’t tell you how many regs prohibit it, though I suppose you’re aware of that.”
Ozwald sighed and looked down at Flip. His voice filled with deathly seriousness, and a tone often used by parents when teaching their children important lessons in life – or death, as the case would have it.
“As Blake so keenly stated,” Ozwald began, “our world is plagued by an infestation that runs deep. An appropriate cure is called for; otherwise our efforts will have been in vain. Is that clear, Flip? I really need you to understand this point.”
Introducing microbivores into the atmosphere initially scared Flip, but then a wave of confidence began to emerge. Realizing that this particular moment was a junction in his life, an urge rose within him. It forged self conviction, which soon crystallized like perfect diamond. His path was clear.
“I fully understand,” he said, standing at attention.
Ozwald nodded approvingly. “Now, Flip, going back to my question: How scalable could the system be?”
Flip was about to answer, but for some reason he hesitated. Blake’s poem distracted him and his eyes fixed on the stanza, which floated off in the corner of the room. The avatar looked on until Flip returning his attention.
“Infinitely scalable,” he said sternly. “Assuming the supply chain can be sustained, there is no limit.”
“Truly infinite?” the avatar asked cautiously. “No limits of any kind?”
Flip reconsidered his remark. “The atmosphere I suppose. You can’t go beyond Earth’s atmosphere.”
