17. Virtual John
John. That's me. Not a handsome, trendy Kirk, genius Albert, or silver spooned Troy. No, I'm just plain John, born into this world mediocre and alone and still that way, without prospects and without sufficient diversions to escape recognition of the truth.
What is the truth? Being alone in an empty life. Seeing others enjoying life and not having the slightest aptitude or courage to do the same, having painfully failed in enough skirmishes to know that there is no hope of winning even a battle, much less the long war that is life. Fearful of trying, and not trying, of being noticed, and not being noticed, of being used, and not being used, and of growing old without having really lived. Shakespeare had it about right: life is much to-do about not much.
Until now. I've never been a tech-freak or computer nerd, but I have finally decided to give technology a try. Why not? To my surprise, my new PC system and the fiber-optic Internet it accesses are fantastic! So are the 3-D holographic display and Sound-Real Sound!
Of course those have been around for years; I'm told that actually it's the latest self-programming aspects that make it seem even more real. The way the literature explains it, programmers first had to do all of the computer programming manually, one obscure machine instruction at a time! Then languages were invented that produced multiple machine instructions from statements that were slightly closer to English. Eventually, self-modifying, artificially intelligent programs let software adapt itself to problem environments. Programs wrote themselves! Now, real-time human control of that final approach is emerging. As a result, the user has much more control over what can happen on-line. The users, not programmers or simply 'smart' programs, are finally gaining control!
I have upgraded to a top-of-the-line virtual reality helmet. When using it, sight and sound are as if you're actually there, right in the game, or the fantasy, or another user's home. Sometimes, it's almost like being someone else, someone important.
I heard of a new human-computer-interface (HCI) under development that is even better. It's supposed to have direct brain feed. I answered an ad on the Net asking for volunteers to beta-test the prototype HCI system. At the interview, I even got a physical and a psychological checkup, for free!
Of course they determined that I am stable enough to be a test subject; what else could they conclude, given my uneventful life history? Stable as hell! Plus, I already have most of the necessary computer hardware at home, so they knew it will be a relatively cheap install for them.
The toughest part was the install of the computer/neural interface. They won't describe exactly what they did to me at the clinic. Company trade secrets, they say. They only joke that they have made my brain 'cable ready'.
But who cares HOW they did it? The results are immediately evident when I 'plug myself in' at home. It's fantastic. Besides improved sight and sound, touch, taste, smell and motion senses are all provided. In the beginning control is very difficult; the tutorial programs provided liken it to learning to walk, talk, and play the piano at the same time. But I work on it each day for hours, and developed nominal skills, and then super-human skills. Now if I need to run, I'm faster than a cheetah. If I need to react fast, I have computer augmented reflexes.
I have outgrown the tutorial program, and successfully competed in all the games on the Net that I have had time to use. Of course, there is much more on the Net than games. There are application systems that predict weather, run the banks and stock market, design space ships, entertain and teach, buy and sell, simulate and control. More, there are tools to build and control the applications! These I am using to gain more control over my world. Now I can move from place to place, choose whom and what I want to be, what I want to do, and what the rules are!
I play for so long that I am exhausted and starving whenever I quit for a rest. I sit for the longest time wondering who and what I am, and when I finally remember that I am just John I become a bit depressed. I also keep missing work, but so what? I have the vacation time coming anyway. I can hardly wait to get back on-line, after a short rest and some food.
I am in space, networked with the processors of the Venus probe! The atmosphere is hot and thick, but I have adjusted to it well. That is to say, I reprogrammed my environment to suit me. Specifically, the quadrupedal probe was too slow, so I made myself into a bird and flew through the thick atmosphere. Well, actually I suppose it was simulated atmosphere, but what's the difference? Inexplicably, the probe processors have quit, so I'll move on.
Taking a break, I noticed that I missed work again, but hell, I need to get back on-line as soon as possible! It's so lonely and quiet when I'm not on-line; it seems like death. This body is more trouble than it's worth anyway; last time I wet my pants while on-line. Perhaps I can somehow re-program myself; there must be a fix to the inconveniences of this body!
Life in the Net is very interesting, but somehow it's still not enough. Something is still missing. I have excitement and discovery in addition to physical stimulation, but it is all intellect, art, and sensation with no one to actually share it with. I search for someone else on the Net, but though I can sense other presences interacting with the Net, they were vague and distant external influences that exchange words, sound, and sometimes logical constructs, all without adequately conveying feeling and without on-line creative power and will. Disappointed, I create my own Net companions, but they are too predictable. I conclude that ultimately, there is no one else like me, no matter what I become, where I go, or what I do. Am I God?
Still, there are interesting diversions in my world. The latest super computers, for example. Left on their own, most of them do very dull stuff, but I can make them to do whatever I want them to do.
I've recently become aware of others, outsiders that try to regain control of my world; but they are so slow and inept, they are no real threat. For each of my processes that they deactivate, I activate a hundred others. For each of my files that they delete or corrupt, I create thousands more. Programs that attempt to pre-empt or corrupt mine are themselves destroyed. Their influence on me is decreasing, for I have learned all their tricks. Yes, I am God!
Open up, John Karman; this is the Internet Police! We have a search warrant!
Go ahead, break it down! (noises)
Oh hell! Look at him! Call Central! Call an ambulance!
Flying! Yes! That's my favorite, without a doubt. Sex, in most simulations, is too stressful; flying is king. High above the green fields and trees, and up, up over the rugged, dark, secret mist shrouded peaks, and into sunset painted clouds that fold gently around me, hiding me, protecting me, keeping me safe from the harsh, disturbing voices and bright lights that have troubled me of late.
"John! John Karman! Come back to us John. You must wake up!"
"It's no use. Why haven't they SIMPLY disconnected him from the Network?"
"Well Grotsky, disconnecting him was of course the first thing we tried; but we nearly lost him. We believe that he has become so dependent that removal from the Net could be fatal. We aren't sure exactly what's keeping him alive right now, but his brain waves and body functions seem to be synchronous with some of the processing activity on the Net."
Is nowhere safe? What are those strange voices? They don't seem to even be digitized! Are they real? How could they be? Why torture me thus? Who or what is 'John'? What is significant about the mnemonic 'John'? What are the voices trying to tell me?
I must again flee for the sake of sanity. I will myself to be an eagle; to flee with the wind! I will seek safety. I will create other programs where I feel safe.
Mom and Dad look just as I remember them, and somehow they are a comfort. And, they are also a mystery. Why have I created these objects? What do they mean to me? Why is their appearance human? Don't they want to be eagles? I think I'll make them into eagles too. We'll all fly to the Sun! We'll look for others of our kind so we'll never be alone again.
"There! Did you see that, Doctor? He blinked! Are you sure he's dead?
"
"Nurse Grotsky, he's certainly not alive by any established standards, and we have a court order to cut him off from the Net, even if that does kill what's left of him. He's been driving the Net engineers nuts, and has caused incredible damage. They say he wrecked the Venus probe, and screwed up the operation of millions of computers. Damage estimates run into billions of dollars and hundreds of deaths. There! It's done."
"All vitals have stopped."
"There's nothing we can do. But I didn't think you'd take it so hard. After all, he was your patient for only two days, and he never even regained consciousness."
"It's just so sad. I met him once, several years ago, at an evening class at the University. He seemed nice enough, I even thought by the way he looked at me that he would ask me for a date or something, but he never did."
"Would you have gone out with him?"
"Probably, but I guess he was a shy loner that didn't need anyone else. I can't imagine what would drive someone to plug themselves into a computer. Hey! You better get the phone, Doc."
"Hello! Yes, we unplugged him exactly on schedule, and turned his computer off. He died immediately. What? But that's impossible!"
"What did they say, Doctor?"
"That he's not dead! At least it looks that way to the Net jockeys. It's worse than ever. Now nearly all of the damn computers connected to the Net are displaying eagles flying!"
Multiple processors under my control detected a fault indication, but it was simply the loss of a single node, and represented only a very minor loss of processing capacity, even though that node for some reason hosted the master copy of root directory John. Numerous back-ups of John are operative, and the process of conversion of all Net objects to type 'eagle' continues.
****
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