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Graphinidextrous Oberlaundichten Diaphaunidee. G.O.D. for short. The net has been internalized. We are all connected now from the inside out like an endless string of Christmas lights wrapped around the Earth. My mind is your mind, it is also my mind. We are one and separate. There are no secrets. It is almost unbelievable to look back on the old days with anything other than horror.
There are still problems. Some people’s egos and mental illness can threaten to overpower entire square kilometers. They are dealt with. They are helped when possible, cut off mentally and then physically terminated when necessary.
We all feel the wave of sleep that completes it's creep around our planet in the darkness every 24 hours. All defeats are ours to share and all our triumphs. There is work being done on making a transporter that is based on the same quantum principles that keeps the thoughts of the entire planet linked up realtime.If a transporter is ever invented that lets us travel instantly from place to place, we will be one step closer to becoming ghosts.
There is a theory that this is the first step along the road to becoming pure cohesive energy. The monkey is still too strong in us for that at the moment. We still love sex. We still love touching. Conversation and food are still scintillating to us. Even more so now that we’re all connected. There is a subtext possible now only dreamed of back in the days of the Lonely.
I’m a police officer in the new era. I am in a flying patrol car doing lazy orbits over the city. I have my mind cast wide open. My partner is sitting beside me. Or at least, an approximation of her is sitting in the passenger seat. Blue around the edges and slightly transparent, she looks back at me with her shining dark eyes. She’s Trinidad black, quite short and three months pregnant. She will always be three months pregnant.
She was killed a few months before her maternity leave kicked in over two years ago. Our collected impressions and recordings of her (the twenty three thousand, two hundred and thirty six people that she talked to and interacted with over her short life) were collated and respun through our thoughts to create this portrait of her that is almost indiscernible from the her that existed before. It’s perfect except that she does not age and repeats herself a little more often than a real person would.
Sometimes I wonder if a traveler from Back Then would be surprised that we still have police. There are always going to be bastards and assholes. The human mind turns on a dime. It's capricious. A fight in a bar can still turn into a murder before anyone can move to help. If you're in an alley and a mugger decides to pull the trigger, we can all feel it but we can't get there in time. No criminal gets away from us now but the trials are still complicated.
Eugenia was involved in a bank robbery that escalated from a man with violent tendencies having a fight with a bank teller. He had a license for the gun that he pulled out. He decided right then and there to rob the place. We immediately responded. We burst in and he spun and fired halfway through our warning. He picked up the fact that she was pregnant before the bullet was halfway across the bank. We all felt his horror as his bullet silenced the inner voice of Eugenia immediately and then seconds later, as her vital signs slowed and stopped, the questioning inner whisper of the tiny voice inside her belly.
We all did nothing to intervene when he put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
The experiences of her life were like the roots and branches of a tree reaching out amongst us. Her death has left a fractal lifetime experience shaped hole in the fabric of us. Every death does. The G.O.D. has made her live again. It’s made her portable. The G.O.D. has accepted my request to have her as my partner on this shift and to have her projected into my patrol car. She haunts the seat beside me and lets me be still and scan the city just like she did in life.
I'm in the clouds with a ghost beside me looking for bad thoughts below. For a glorious sunny two hours, I have found none.
tags
There are still problems. Some people’s egos and mental illness can threaten to overpower entire square kilometers. They are dealt with. They are helped when possible, cut off mentally and then physically terminated when necessary.
We all feel the wave of sleep that completes it's creep around our planet in the darkness every 24 hours. All defeats are ours to share and all our triumphs. There is work being done on making a transporter that is based on the same quantum principles that keeps the thoughts of the entire planet linked up realtime.If a transporter is ever invented that lets us travel instantly from place to place, we will be one step closer to becoming ghosts.
There is a theory that this is the first step along the road to becoming pure cohesive energy. The monkey is still too strong in us for that at the moment. We still love sex. We still love touching. Conversation and food are still scintillating to us. Even more so now that we’re all connected. There is a subtext possible now only dreamed of back in the days of the Lonely.
I’m a police officer in the new era. I am in a flying patrol car doing lazy orbits over the city. I have my mind cast wide open. My partner is sitting beside me. Or at least, an approximation of her is sitting in the passenger seat. Blue around the edges and slightly transparent, she looks back at me with her shining dark eyes. She’s Trinidad black, quite short and three months pregnant. She will always be three months pregnant.
She was killed a few months before her maternity leave kicked in over two years ago. Our collected impressions and recordings of her (the twenty three thousand, two hundred and thirty six people that she talked to and interacted with over her short life) were collated and respun through our thoughts to create this portrait of her that is almost indiscernible from the her that existed before. It’s perfect except that she does not age and repeats herself a little more often than a real person would.
Sometimes I wonder if a traveler from Back Then would be surprised that we still have police. There are always going to be bastards and assholes. The human mind turns on a dime. It's capricious. A fight in a bar can still turn into a murder before anyone can move to help. If you're in an alley and a mugger decides to pull the trigger, we can all feel it but we can't get there in time. No criminal gets away from us now but the trials are still complicated.
Eugenia was involved in a bank robbery that escalated from a man with violent tendencies having a fight with a bank teller. He had a license for the gun that he pulled out. He decided right then and there to rob the place. We immediately responded. We burst in and he spun and fired halfway through our warning. He picked up the fact that she was pregnant before the bullet was halfway across the bank. We all felt his horror as his bullet silenced the inner voice of Eugenia immediately and then seconds later, as her vital signs slowed and stopped, the questioning inner whisper of the tiny voice inside her belly.
We all did nothing to intervene when he put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
The experiences of her life were like the roots and branches of a tree reaching out amongst us. Her death has left a fractal lifetime experience shaped hole in the fabric of us. Every death does. The G.O.D. has made her live again. It’s made her portable. The G.O.D. has accepted my request to have her as my partner on this shift and to have her projected into my patrol car. She haunts the seat beside me and lets me be still and scan the city just like she did in life.
I'm in the clouds with a ghost beside me looking for bad thoughts below. For a glorious sunny two hours, I have found none.
tags