Shylock.
‘Yes,’ said Chaos. ‘The University of Thought.’
‘The University of Thought?’ Shylock repeated, more to himself than anyone else.
‘You don’t know about the University of Thought?’ asked Chaos, continuing as Shylock shrugged. ‘Well, when Time retired we needed to find a way of solving a few practical problems. For instance, the question of how to get around when t=0….I mean, everything we did was measured relative to time – we moved in distance per unit of time, we measured our own lifetimes in years, we worked during the day and slept at night, it took time to do anything and so on. In fact, although we all existed before Time retired and therefore still exist, we had some basic problems of how to get along without him. You could say we really missed him – all of the time’
‘So the University of Thought was founded, to understand how to exist without Time?’ Shylock proposed, seeing the problem.
Chaos nodded her agreement. ‘That’s where they developed CTS’s or congruent-thought-structures.’
‘Congruent what?’ asked Shylock, scratching his stubbly chin.
‘Oh, they’re used for lots of different things. The best example is all around us right now.’
Shylock turned left then right, looking to see what Chaos meant, and frowned, puzzled.
‘The VE,’ she laughed. ‘The virtual-environment!’
‘Virtual?’ Shylock queried. ‘You mean this building isn’t real?’
‘Of course not, silly. How could it be real without time? If it were real it would have taken time to build….and that was impossible. So, we created it with our combined thoughts,’ she explained.
‘How does it work?’ Shylock asked. ‘CTS? that is.’
‘Easiest to show you,’ Chaos replied. ‘Concentrate on the floor and visualise it as red instead of grey.’
Shylock did as he was told and gasped as he looked down at the floor around his feet. It wasn’t bright red, as he was trying to think of it as, but it definitely had a pinkish hue that wasn’t there beforehand. ‘Did I do that?’
‘Mmm, Mmm,’ Chaos murmured.
‘But if anyone can change everything so easily, why isn’t everything more confused?’ Shylock asked.
‘Because,’ explained Chaos, smiling at his confusion.’ This building is a CTS…remember, a congruent-thought-structure. It’s created by the collective thoughts of all of us who use it most regularly. We each thought of how we would like the structure to be and used an artificial-synaptic congruency equation to agree on one structure which we all maintain.’
‘So basically, you all agreed on what it should look like?’ asked Shylock, checking that he was following what was said. ‘And you keep it up to date in your mind?’
‘That’s right, and because there are many of us who have it in our thoughts it takes very little effort on each of our parts to maintain it,’ Chaos finished.
‘So that was why I could only make the floor turn pink instead of red? Because there are so many of you keeping it grey?’ asked Shylock.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Chaos. ‘In Wilderment, whenever you come across a structure, it exists in the thoughts of someone. The harder the structure to change, the more of us already have that structure in our minds.’
‘So, when I thought-travel, I think of where I want to go and am automatically attracted to your collective structure?’ asked Shylock, understanding. ‘But what happens if I think of somewhere that hasn’t been formed yet?’
‘Then as the first on the scene, you get to form the initial appearance, and when others eventually arrive, unless they want to change it, it will grow in strength as their thoughts accept it, therefore perpetuating the appearance you gave it,’ said Chaos.
‘Like a memory?’ Shylock added.
‘Exactly, agreed Chaos. ‘Although a thought is active, whereas a memory is passive and accepting.’
‘What if someone set up another Wilderment Council building?’ Shylock asked.
‘They would need to have a different address, or else their site would be closed down by Order. Every thought-structure, be it individual or a CTS, must have a unique address, which is really a pain – remembering them all that is,’ complained Chaos.
‘So, capitals and hyphens are important in the thought-stream?’ Shylock asked, realising how this fitted with his own experience of trying to find Infinite Resources Inc.
‘Now,’ Chaos interrupted, as Shylock mused over what he’d just learnt. ‘I know that this conversation has taken no time at all, but I really must get back to Null-Order. I’ve a lot of work to get done. Would you care to travel with me, as we’re both going to the same place. It’s about a tenth of infinity down this way,’ she said, pointing back down the way Shylock had arrived.
Department of Null-Order
Chaos had shown him how to thought-merge and travel together, delivering him directly to the department of Null-Order, and then with a farewell smile, left him as she entered an office with Chaos painted upside-down on a feather door.
Considering the department for the first time, the reception area felt like a morgue to Shylock - cold and unfriendly, with a faint smell of methyl alcohol or some similar cleaning compound. Subconsciously slowing his breathing, he moved towards the glass-topped counter and picked up a small diamond ring he found lying there. Immediately a man’s head appeared round the partition behind the desk and asked if he could help.
‘That was quick,’ said Shylock. ‘I hadn’t even asked yet.’
‘Surely you lifted the ring, didn’t you?’ the man asked, seeing the ring in Shylock’s hand. That’s the ring for service,’ he explained.
‘Ah, of course,’ Shylock said, carefully replacing the ring on the counter top. ‘I was wondering if I may talk with Permission?’
‘Certainly,’ replied the receptionist pleasantly. ‘I’ll just give her a call for you. PERMISSION!’ he bellowed at the top of his voice.
Shylock jumped as the receptionist’s voice seemed to fill his head from the inside - pressurising his eyeballs such that he was compelled to squeeze his eyes shut and cover them with his hands, to keep them from popping out.
Apparently getting no response, the receptionist tried a second time, repeating Shylock’s misery.
‘Al-right, I heard you the first time, Mahoo. I was just coming,’ said a soft, pleasant female voice.
Shylock opened his eyes and blinked. No more than a couple of steps away from him stood a young woman of roughly his own age and height. She was stark naked and undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her body slim and curvy in the right places, with pretty B-cup breasts and blond hair that was definitely quite natural.
Suddenly aware how he had been staring, Shylock felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Now realising why her mother had given her such strong advice, he quickly introduced himself and confirmed that this vision of beauty was in fact Permission.
She confirmed her identity and smiled at him, then asked him how he saw her?
‘Why,’ Shylock replied, blushing. ‘As beautiful, of course.
‘Yes, of course,’ Permission said. ‘But how do I look? What colour are my eyes and hair? What am I wearing?’
Shylock was hopelessly confused and was immensely relieved when the receptionist, obviously understanding his dilemma, offered to help him out. ‘I think I see the problem,’ he added, explaining. ‘You see, Permission has no ability to think of herself. - no self-permission.’
‘A minor birth defect that escaped genetic manipulation,’ Permission added.
‘So,’ continued the receptionist. ‘She can only appear as others see her.’
‘You mean…’ began Shylock, flushing deeper than before.
Seeing his now shameful flush, Permission’s smile was quickly replaced with an angry scowl. ‘Naked? Right?’ she exclaimed angrily, turning to leave while cursing over her shoulder. ‘Men!’
Entranced, Shylock could only admire as she sashayed away from him. Only when she was a
bout to disappear did he realise what was happening. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he shouted after her.
She hesitated, looked over her shoulder and asked why he wanted to know.
‘Just tell me,’ said Shylock, transmitting his urgency.
‘Well, Blue probably,’ Permission replied, not understanding the purpose of Shylock’s sudden interest in her own tastes.
Shylock’s brow furrowed as he concentrated on her form until suddenly proclaiming. ‘Cornflower blue, cut on the bias and free-flowing to just above the knee. Now, what about your hair? Blonde, Brunette…?’
Slowly, Shylock extracted details from her of all her personal preferences - hair, eyes, skin-colour, height and much more. All the time drawing her back towards him as he formed her wishes in his mind, realising as he did so that she was becoming even more beautiful than he had originally imagined. It was as if he were merging her preferences with his own desires, creating a true work of art. Finished, he stepped back and smiled.
‘Wow!’ gasped the receptionist, admiring Shylock’s handiwork. ‘That’s really something.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Shylock, confused. ‘I thought we each saw what we wanted to see?’
‘Yeah,’ replied the receptionist. ‘But you’ve done something really special. Something I’ve never seen done before. You’ve created such a strong image that I can’t change it. It’s as if my mind had been forced to see her as you’ve made her….and that’s al-right by me, by the way. You’ve done a real nice job there!’
Shylock turned back to