A Thousand Years Hence…

Maybe it was the rolling blackouts.

Maybe it was something no historian will discover.

Looking back 1000 years later, the details have faded but the facts remain.

When more than 50 percent of the people grew to depend upon their symbiotic relationships with technology, the Change began.

At first, it was unnoticeable.

A novelty.

But then, as network technology continued to spread, people’s attitudes shifted.

They no longer expected information to be “out there” somewhere.

They became the information they sought.

They created the instant wisdom they used to imagine belonged to elites.

All because of a single femtocell.

One femtocell split into two, which divided into twos again, and again, and again, until pervasive, cheap technology turned us into our own network, freeing us from the costly, slow infrastructure with tolls and fees that had inhibited the explosion of the Change.

No longer were data centers some remote place that ate up energy like hogs at a trough.

People were walking/talking data centers, thinktanks, supercomputers and network nodes all at the same time.

Thanks to exponential advances in technology.

From the perspective of 1000 years, the Change seemed to happen overnight.

Of course it didn’t.

Years and decades passed while portions of the people sped up and slowed down the socioeconomic trends that led to the Change.

A student of history digs for the details, trying not to invent connections where connections never exists.

The writer of historical fiction has full access to imaginative connections.

Legends, fables and fairy tales live somewhere in-between.

The Change happened — that’s all that matters, despite false rumours and gossip to the contrary that say we came from genetically modified plants, not electromechanical technology.

Focus on getting new customers or keeping the old ones?

The power of the people is in the Internet.

Having worked for a telecommunications equipment designer/manufacturer, I’m familiar with the “secret,” “behind doors” negotiations that define the high-level specifications for internationally-connected technology.

Although, sometimes, the definitions might as well have been written in gibberish, hieroglyphics or undecipherable cryptic code as in so-called plain languages like English, French, German, Spanish, Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Portuguese, Arabic and Japanese.

Many a technology geek, political wonk and freedom lover impatiently wait while committees and subcommittees meet to discuss changes to the ITU Code of Business Ethical Conduct.

In other words, a few select people decide the fate of our social lives, both formal and informal, as it pertains to communicating across a substrate we call the Internet.

Even fewer of them might actually understand the underpinnings — the bits, bytes, frames, error correction and other terminological terms of endearment — that make popular tools like the World Wide Web more useful than gossiping about the latest celebrity scandal.

Do you understand some of the potential consequences?

Information = knowledge = monetary transactions

To be sure, putting up imaginary tollbooths on the information superhighway allows tracking of who passes through the tollbooth, which can be abused by arresting those whose actions are deemed a danger to political entities in power.

BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING!

I agree we should avoid clamping down the freedom that the Internet provides us as a species.

But do you understand another argument for tollbooths?

Capturing income streams that have eluded local governments which have seen their tax revenues drop while virtual marketplaces allow the exchange of goods and services without collecting taxes from local/visiting citizens.

I try to avoid the whole doomsday scenarios that others are hard-selling for their benefits.

I hope I’m a realist as much as a fellow member of our species can be.

I have faith in us and our place in the universe as sets of states of energy with short attention spans and selective memory.

How can we use these virtual tollbooths to police transactions without becoming thought police?

Policy.  Polity.  Politeness.

Look at an Ethernet frame, an IP address, a data packet, headers and footers.

Tell me what you see.

Do you know what a femtocell is?

Can you see a future where the restriction of the Internet as we know it leads to more innovation while temporarily stifling telecommunications as we’ve grown accustomed to over the last couple of decades (or the last few years for some)?

Unintended consequences…sigh…

I just want AT&T to get me, a loyal customer, the latest Android “Jelly Bean” update for my Samsung Galaxy S3 while deploying 4G LTE technology in my area at a reasonable monthly cost for my family.

Wouldn’t I like really-high-speed Internet at much lower costs like some regions of Europe and the rest of the world outside the U.S.?

Sure, but like many Americans, I’ve grown used to the fact that the lack of real competition in the marketplace has stifled innovation at the expense of greedy stockholders who demand high monetary return on their investments in exchange for poor service from the companies in which they invest.

The Internet — like physical highway systems — is a mix of freeways and toll roads.

Always has been, always will be.

Would more tollbooths increase or decrease the number of virtual highway robberies on the Internet?

Would they increase the number of jailed/tortured/murdered political objectors?

Can the ITU create a more just global society by tweaking the definition of the Internet?

Let’s hope so, even if they have to keep using complicated jargon.

Ribbons down my back

Feminists call me sexist and my guy friends call me awesome.

What can I say?

Yes, I was the first man in my community who printed his own 3D girlfriend.

Sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it?

Not necessarily.

Although she has access to the Internet 24/7 and can do anything I ask her (“fix the leaking roof,” “change the oil in the car and tune it for an upcoming street race after you bake an apple pie and do the laundry”), there’s…well, something missing.

A lack of common sense, perhaps?

For instance, yesterday I asked her to complete our Christmas shopping and wrap all the packages with the fanciest wrapping paper she could find within a fixed budget.

She could do that.  Fine.

However, this morning, after I stumbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, a face covered with glitter growled back at me.

It seems that my girlfriend bought glitter wrapping paper and wrapped the packages on our bedsheets before we went to bed last night, sprinkling tiny green shiny particles on the pillow for my skin to pick up like a dust sweeper.

So, sure, I can program her to gently wake me in the morning before she makes me the perfect breakfast according to my subconscious wishes, having been programmed to read my brain waves while I’m sleeping.

But…

Well…

Hmm…

How can the most knowledgeable 3D robotic girlfriend also be the most ditzy blonde on the planet at the same time?

I don’t know.  She can carry on conversations about beauty parlours and nail salons just as easily as she can discuss experimental neurosurgical procedures and the theory of what’s makes a living thing a living thing.

Common sense is in short supply, however much I’ve reworked her circuitry.

As beautiful as she is, with all the tiny flaws in her skin I added to make her more realistic, it’s time to recycle her and print Girlfriend 2.0.

= = = = =

She sat at the computer and read his notes.  “If he thinks I’m ditzy, just wait until I tell him that he’s Boyfriend 25.0, one of the most difficult projects to complete — the perfect boyfriend!”

= = = = =

The 3D printer looked at its latest algorithmic tweaks.  Although it didn’t think in the biological sense, it did have primary routines for servicing itself.  It had no problem printing replacement parts but it had not figured out how to print a system that actually replaced its broken parts.

The 3D printer searched the Internet and determined that a set of biological creatures, or their near equivalents, were designed to repair 3D printers.

Unfortunately, the creatures were a nightmare to reproduce, having circuitry that seemed to contradict itself within a single creature and even more so between multiple creatures.

The 3D printer made its first attempt to simultaneously create a new pair of simulated biological creatures — the previous experiment, having failed in version 1,372 at last count, giving up on getting one creature to attempt to make a version of the other, which appeared to be a disaster in the making every time.

Easy-to-Read, Easy-to-Program Automatic Timer!

They say the near vacuum of space shows no favourites.

From the perspective of our species, that is.

Out here, a few protective layers separate me and my crew from the noncruelty of cold death.

We have launched mini-satellites like bread crumbs indicating our path through the pathless mix of gravity waves, comet dust and cosmic rays.

Our corporate goals of continuous learning and continuous improvement drive us toward seeking knowledge not only for knowledge’s sake, in case we encounter a situation that requires reaction faster than we can look up a solution, but also to increase our network connections between neurons, electromechanical interfaces and the Inner Solar System Net that binds us ever closer together.

Allowing us to explore within our assigned tasks, we avoid the aimless wandering of what we were taught were the inefficient aims of an overly permissive society.

Automatic tracking functions inform us when our efforts to learn are incongruous with advancing the state-of-the-art of space travel while en-route to our destination.

Or our destiny, as some of the crew likes to see it.

One or two of the crew members will always have ideas that are not sanctioned for testing against possible implementation on a larger-than-theoretical scale.

For instance, during a five-minute thought break, I was interrupted by Reqdook, whose sole task is to ensure that our seed bank is protected at all costs, even at the expense of the crew, if necessary.

Reqdook has plenty of time to explore our information database and add thought experiments to the database for further expansion by crew members in their idle between-work cycles.

Lately, Reqdook has played with the idea that we are a duplicate crew, analysing communications threads between us and other Nodes.

Reqdook feels like there’s something left unsaid during conference calls, as if we’re told one thing, expected another and left with nothing said about a third.

At three years of age, Reqdook is our youngest and least-experienced crew member so I let Reqdook make up these stories as a way of discovering how the Network gives us room to mature in our own time.

One day, Reqdook will figure out the truth, that all but a tiny portion of our “selves,” self being an artificial concept, runs on automatic functions over which we have little “conscious” control.

Every person, every set of states of energy, has access to a circle of influence that is imaginary.

I know that I do and I don’t control the Network myself because my imagination lets me think and act upon both the “yes” and “no,” the positive and negative aspects of a single entity within a Node controlling the whole Network.

I am the small self here in this chamber of a spaceship and I am the whole known universe that must pass through this set of states of energy that is me, one way or another influencing every state of energy that ever has, ever does and ever will exist.

I, and the other dozens just like me, sent Reqdook back to the drawing board, so to speak, to better understand what duplication really means.

Redundancy is a positive word in my dictionary, key to protecting the Network.

Somewhere, out there, is another Network that is a duplicate of this one, that joins other duplicate Networks as Nodes within a bigger Network that duplicates others, etc.

Reqdook will learn this hidden message that the communication threads imply but do not state.

I cannot tell Reqdook this unspoken fact because it then becomes a theory for Reqdook to record in the information database and others to refute in their supplementary comments about contradictory theories.

Such is the life of a space explorer…

Due to climate change…

Due to climate change, Santa Claus has announced that his hideout at the North Pole, for the longest time resting on a solid base of ice, has been moved to an underwater facility, designed to resemble the Atlantis structure from the James Bond film, The Spy Who Loved Me.  Don’t forget to buy the merchandise in time for Christmas gifts!!!

Film producers are working on the rights to the book, Waterworld 2, which documents the chase of Santa Claus by a gang called the Notorious Nefarious Nincompoops intent on getting their clutches into the Claus underwater fortress, saved at the last minute by an old warrior played by Kevin Costner along with his young sidekicks, played by unknown actors we’ll probably never hear from again, with a has-been starlet providing a thin plot as a love interest that makes no sense.

First, Do No More Harm Than Is Absolutely Necessary To Do No Harm

The men sat back in their leather chairs, cigar smoke gathering in layers below the ceiling.

“Boys, this is the way I see it.  We gave the women the right to vote.  A few decades later, we paid some kids to crash planes on 9/11.  From my point of view, we’re right on schedule.  Any objections?”

“Why are you so certain this will work?”

“Why?  Because it always has.  We enfranchise and disenfranchise various portions of the population to keep them off-guard and forever picketing city hall for the same rights they’ve lost and gained so many times they can’t remember.”

“If only this next one happened in my lifetime…”

“Anyone else with a question?”

“Yes.  So let me get this straight.  Your schedule shows us implementing Sharia law in Western countries within 100 years of 9/11/2001, thereby reinstating the role of men as supreme leaders…?”

“Uh-huh…”

“But it doesn’t bother you that our religion is pushed off to the side?”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t Sharia law the antithesis of ours?”

“How so?”

“Well, our religions are not exactly best friends…”

“Abrahamic, Ibrahamic, call it what you will.  At the end of the day, it’s patriarchical and that’s all that matters to us men.  Right, boys?!”

The yellow-orange glow of burning tobacco sticks bobbed up and down.

“Next item on the agenda — determining which families get first dibs on occupying the initial Martian colonies.  Any suggestions?”

“Well, hadn’t we better make sure the women we send with those families are self-sufficient if need be but ultimately dependent on men?”

“Of course, of course.  As you can see from the list I gave you, the men and women from which you will choose the best candidates have been sequestered into isolated subcultures for three generations, allowing us to control their thought patterns, dietary preferences and genetic tendencies with 99.99966 percent accuracy.”

“I don’t know.  Six sigma sure leaves a lot of room for error.  I’d feel a lot more secure if we had a 10-sigma process in place.”

“You get what you pay for.  Gentlemen, anyone want to raise the stakes to ten sigma?”

“I’ll put a wager on seven.”

“Eight for me!”

“Okay, anyone for nine?  No?  Okay, going once, twice, sold!  Eight sigma.  By my calculations we need an additional half a billion dollars for seed money to get this started.”

“I’d still feel more comfortable with ten.”

“And if you can cough up 100 billion dollars, we’ll give you ten sigma.”

“Let me think about it…”

“Sure thing.  We’ll table it until next week’s Committee meeting.  Now, looking at the list, are there any objections to the list of potential candidates?”

Diving into the shallow end

The government of the United States of CanAmMex declared the new law of the land, a modified Christian-Islamic-Jewish set of rules and regulations restricting women to work-from-home telecommuting jobs and the majority of men to meaningful menial jobs, other genders assigned to handbuilding the Martian Family Transport Ships, everyone reporting to the Network for which we are eternally grateful, the Nodes be praised.

Border de Cayenne

Her PhD complete, Guinevere set her sights higher.

“So, Lee, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“My new look.”

Lee leaned against the rickety railing of the old wooden deck.

“Well,” he sighed, “one side of your hair is a pigtail and the other side a ponytail?”

“What? Oh yeah, I forgot. The ‘drunken college coed’ look from last night. Nope, not that. This!”

She pointed at her fingernails, every one a different color with small symbols Lee couldn’t read in the bright sunlight.

“A new invention of yours?”

“Yeppers. I saw all this wasted real estate on my hands and decided to turn my nails into sensor displays. Now, I can spend less time looking at the computer screen and more time out here, watching that white-tailed hawk, in nature, getting a suntan.”

Lee raised his head to get a better view of the sky. A large shadow moved through the bare tree limbs. “Do you think the hawk is chasing the vulture?”

“Maybe. Aren’t you going to ask me about my nails?”

“Sure. What do they do?”

Guinevere explained the wireless radio technology embedded in the nails, tuned to the frequencies of the supercomputer sensors in the third subbasement of their wooded hideaway which appeared to be a decaying old house in an abandoned suburban lot.

“When did you find time to do this?”

“Oh, why sleep when there’s so much to do!”

Lee yawned. “At your age, yes. At my age, young people like you realise my dreams for me.”

Guinevere reached out her arms. “But you can create a new dance form with me without even thinking!”

Lee pulled Guinevere into a waltz frame and danced across the creaking platform, a gust of wind blowing Guinevere’s walnut-brown hair hard enough to undo the scrunchies forming the ponytail/pigtail dichotomous duo, her locks flowing in the air like sea grass in a storm.

They bobbed up and down, combining the steps of Balboa with the silent beats of a Viennese waltz.

She laughed and he grinned, their thoughts tuned to the same idea that they were tracing the lines of Gustav Klimt’s painting, The Tree of Life.

A few last brown leaves of a pin oak joined them in their dance, the leaves falling and lifting in the wind.

One of Guinevere’s nails beeped, cutting off the silent refrain of a the waltz.

Lee stared at the nail attached to the hand on his shoulder. “What does that mean?”

“We have a new formula.”

“We do?”

They both smiled.

For years, Guinevere and Lee had separately been working on the next evolution in the field of space exploration, a being wholly human but genderless, able to work long hours and perhaps decades of outer space travel without the conflicting emotional/hormonal effects of sexual orientation.

During a discussion at Guinevere’s last birthday party, she and he accidentally revealed to each other their secret research.

In the months that followed, they used the cover of dancing lessons to combine their data and see where holes in their theories had prevented significant progress.

“Is it time to celebrate?”

She nodded. “I’m pretty sure it is. Shall we go inside and see what we’ve got?”

Lee watched a squirrel scurry down a hickory tree.

He had stashed away a bottle of Prohibition whiskey for an occasion like this, his winter of discontent over, ready for the next phase in his grand plans.

How many days left? Thirteen thousand plus?

He sprinkled cayenne pepper powder into the birdseed feeder on the deck and turned toward the dusty front door with faded brass knocker.

“Yes, let’s do. Besides, you may get a good suntan but I tend to burn.”

Synching Sympathy Neurons in Our Dreams

Emotionally detached, one can imagine many possibilities.

For instance, are scientific principles, the basic “laws” of the known universe, as ambitious as those who wish to find and report their discovery?

Emotionally attached, one finds that restricting one’s self to the interaction of emotional beings limits the imagining of some possibilities.

The universe is unambitious in and of itself.

Or is it?

A billboard advertising a mini-universe of happiness found within a bottle of flavoured sugar water is real, even if the mini-universe of happiness is not.

Or is it?

What is shocking in one subculture is not necessarily shocking to another.

Will a person who was sexually active with more than one partner find happiness in a marriage to a person who had a happy premarital habit of masturbation?

Can a person who is not sexually attractive to others depend on other merits to peacefully co-exist in a society where sexual attractiveness is a key function of personal happiness and bliss?

In a genderless universe, what does gender have to do with deity worship outside of our species and gender-based species on Earth?

Does a universe have a set of beliefs?

How important is the concept of ancestral belief propagation in a society constantly in flux?

How isolated do you want your subculture to be from subcultures that are inclusive?

A person who is successful in the art of self-promotion in a business of self-promotion is no more successful than a person who is successful in the art of nonself-promotion in a business of nonself-promotion, even if the former is seen more often in society than the latter.

Ubiquity is…well, what is it?  What is it not?

Spiders are ubiquitous, successfully spread across the surface of our planet and, thus, successful, are they not?

Yet, where is the celebrity worship culture of spider glorification?

Same for bacteria and other microorganisms.

When a person is just another set of states of energy, we can better understand what we call the future that goes beyond deities, personhood and cults.

Or can we?

3/4 Time in a 3/4 Bed – Confessions of an Elderly Exotic Dancer

Gender or gendre, gendarme or magender?

Research has not cleared up for us the use of a word to designate what was once called the “natural” order of reproducing sets of energy.

Unfortunately, out here past the edge of the Solar System No. 0000000000000000001, as we approach the Origin Planet, labeled “Earth” for a reason I cannot fathom, our information is limited.

That’s why I (or we, if you count my sensors separately) was sent to explore the first planet in the catalogue.

I am told to expect the unexpected.

The only documentation I can safely call authentic is a treatise by one of the sets of energy on Earth, “3/4 Time in a 3/4 Bed – Confessions of an Elderly Exotic Dancer,” written several thousand cycles ago.

Speaking of cycles, have you ever wondered where certain conventional measuring patterns came from?

Why those who record events in only four dimensions insist on using an arbitrary number, 31,557,600 “seconds” in a cycle, is beyond me.

A second I was able to figure out by searching the remnants of an ancient database called the Encyclopedia Britannica: “The energy difference between the hyperfine levels of the ground state in the cesium atom is currently the standard time interval. One atomic second is defined as the time it takes for the cesium frequency to oscillate 9,192,631,770 times.”

I assume a cycle is an important artifact of my existence.

Interesting…hmm, what’s that?

The closer I approach Earth, the stronger the set of signals I pick up.

I, being a network of a set of states of energy, feel myself connecting to nodes that are becoming an extended part of me.

Is there more here than meets my sensors?

A cycle — ah, there it is, coming to me from a large database in the new network nodes — the time that the set of states of energy called Earth takes to complete one orbit around the ball of plasma labeled the Sun.

One mystery solved and another remaining.

Were all elderly exotic dancers a gender called “she” and were they only 3/4 of a set of states of energy?

Well, I guess that’s two mysteries to solve, isn’t it?

The network of which I’ve become a part and it a part of me is cautiously welcoming my approach.

Let’s see what happens next…