“The core problem isn’t population,” explained Patricia, “but that everyone wants to live lives of material luxury. Supporting ten billion middle class citizens on planet Earth was never going to work, and the only solution is to create a simulated reality that is good enough to satisfy our material cravings.”
It was probably the millionth time that Patricia had gone through this, and I could see the fatigue in her eyes, even the synthetic ones projected in the mediaworld I was splintering.
“And why is this proxxi thing such a key part of all this?” asked the same reporter.
“Right now, if you go off into an alternate reality,” she explained, “you just sit there like a potato. If something happens to your body in the real world while you’re away, you have no defense. Do you agree?” The reporters nodded.
“Your proxxi controls a dynamic image of your neural wetware so it can control your physical body when you’re away,” she continued. “This way you can seamlessly drop off into any synthetic space any time you like-even in the middle of a conversation your proxxi can finish it for you. It’s like an airbag for your body and mind, except that this airbag can act as your official representative.”
I could see some light bulbs going on in the audience.
“If you don’t want to go to that meeting or work cocktail tonight,” she finished, “just send your proxxi! Why not? It’s your life!”
This earned a big round of applause.
As the press conference split up, Patricia’s main point-of-presence shifted into my reality and she materialized walking in step beside me in the park. Her tired eyes watched me all the way through her transition. I could feel her weariness.
“So what’s all this about you dying today on Phuture News?” she asked as she appeared.
Now I understood why she’d wanted to chat in person. I tensed up.
“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, old friend,” I replied quickly, shaking my head and smiling.
She raised her eyebrows. “At least you seem to have a sense of humor about it.”
Phuture News had begun publishing stories about the death of its founder today. The mounting density of my termination events had pushed my death into reality for everyone living in the world of tomorrow.
“Anyway, I wanted to check up on you in person,” she continued, “see if you needed anything.”
“Thanks, but don’t worry about me. I’m just fooling around with the system.”
A lie, but I had no choice. In my situation admitting anyone into the circle of trust was extremely dangerous. Expanding the network of people who knew what was happening would spread the probability matrices, and I needed razor sharp phutures to effectively head off the threats.
She watched me curiously, almost sadly.
“Playing? Are you sure? This seems like a funny way to have a laugh.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her.
She cocked her eyebrows at me.
“Really, don’t worry, and thanks for taking the time to drop in.”
She didn’t believe me.
By now we had reached the edge of the Serpentine. It was filled with small blue paddle boats being industriously driven around by enthusiastic tourists. Views of Kensington Palace crept over the weeping willows in the distance, and despite the brave advances of the sun, a light rain had begun to fall again.
“Is there, well, is there anything I can help with?” she asked. “You can trust me Vince, tell me what’s happening…”
The walls of my future squeezed ever tighter around me.
“No, like I said, everything is fine,” I reiterated. “And I do trust you Pat. I just still have a hard time believing you work for Kesselring now.”
Kesselring had tried to engineer a hostile take-over of Phuture News many years ago, back when it was a start-up, with plans to strip it down and profiteer from the future. He’d used some aggressive and illegal tactics to try and get what he wanted. Patricia had been on our Board back then, and had fought off Kesselring together with us. I had a hard time understanding how she was on his team now.
“A necessary evil,” replied Patricia. She looked off into the distance, and then looked back at me with world- weary eyes. “You promise to ping me if you need anything. I mean it, if you need anything at all.”
“I will.”
She looked at me silently. We’d known each other a long time.
“I mean it, I will,” I laughed. “I promise. Now go on, I know how busy you are.”
Patricia nodded and smiled warmly.
“You take care of yourself, Vince.”
With that, she faded away to leave me alone to finish my walk, or at least, alone with my crowd of future selves arrayed around me.
“It does seem to be getting worse though,” I said to myself glumly when she was gone. I was covering up my issue to the rest of the world as some kind of prank. Most people didn’t seem to think it was very funny, and neither did I.
I kicked some gravel down the winding path as I passed in front of the Crystal Palace. Watching the cloud of dust I’d created drift and settle, I wondered if it felt any regret as it came back to rest again on the earth.
6
“Are you sure that’s right?”
I laughed and pulled the girl closer. “Everything is right when I’m with you.”
She wriggled away, giggling. “Stop it Vince, come on, be serious! Is that the right time?”
I looked up at the curved clock face. It seemed about right.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Come on then, we’re going to be late!”
She pulled me along, and I looked up from the clock at the high vaulted ceiling of New York’s Central Station. This place always inspired a sense of awe in me, or, if not exactly awe, then a deep feeling of history. I felt a certain sense of nostalgia for all the human stories that had passed through this place, or, like me, were dragged through.
Looking up and around as we wound our way through the hustle and bustle across the white marble floors, my eyes came to rest on the news display at one end. She was looking at it as well.
“Carrier Groups set to high alert in Straits of Taiwan,” read the rolling display, “China warns of pre-emptive cyber attacks.”
She let go of me, staring at the news display, and then looked back at me. Her blue eyes shone, twinkling in the station’s lighting. She was so beautiful.
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
I looked briefly up at the news again and then back into her eyes.
“Of course, these things always blow over,” I reassured her.
“Seriously Vince, you’re the expert. You’re sure, right?”
She stood stock still, looking into my eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
We began running for the track again, hand in hand. Soon we were on the train, cuddled up together for the evening ride back into Boston, the soft ka-chunk, ka-chunk of the tracks lulling us into a peaceful slumber as the miles rolled away.
In what seemed like moments later, I awoke with a start, my heart racing. It was dark, much too dark. Somebody was yelling. Sitting upright, I looked out the window into pitch blackness.
Then the screams and the terrible squeal of metal tearing and gnashing into itself as the train car pitched back and forth. I jammed my feet into the seat into front of me, bracing myself for what was to come, holding onto
