update from sparkleup
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<p>I woke, exhausted, to a cup of coffee steaming on the bedside table.</p>
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<p>At some point while I’d slept, Hanne had once more split the bed into two separate mattresses and very gently instructed the sim to slide them a few feet away from each other. Perhaps I’d been tossing and turning, or maybe I’d been snoring. I promised myself I’d ask later, then promptly forgot about it in favor of the coffee mug waiting for me.</p>
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<p>Coffee and chicory, nearly a third oatmilk by volume. Perfect.</p>
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<p>I was two sips in when the weight of what happened hit me once again. I didn’t quite know how it was that they had escaped me in those minutes after waking, but a pile of ‘how could’ questions started to hem me in again — how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.</p>
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<p>I was two sips in when the weight of what happened hit me once again. I didn’t quite know how it was that they had escaped me in those minutes after waking, but a pile of ‘how could I’ questions started to hem me in again — how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.</p>
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<p>I forced myself to sit up in bed and drink my coffee. I set myself the goal of sipping until it was finished. I stared out the window for a bit. I cried for a bit. I drank about half my coffee before the wait became unbearable.</p>
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<p>Five minutes. Hah.</p>
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<p>I couldn’t quite interact face-to-face yet. Not with Hanne, not with the occasional bout of sniffles still striking me. Instead, I sent the gentlest ping I could manage to Vos, received no answer. </p>
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@ -25,10 +25,10 @@
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<p>I reached out mentally to send a sensorium ping to Dry Grass, only for the perisystem architecture to present me with a series of options, numbering well above a dozen. She’d been busy, apparently, forking as needed throughout the night and– yep, two of those available instances disappeared as they quit, followed shortly by one more new one being added. She was certainly still awake.</p>
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<p><em>“Good morning, Reed,”</em> her root instance murmured through a message. <em>“More well rested, now?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Best I can be, at least,”</em> I sent back. <em>“I, uh…sorry for interrupting. The rest of the clade’s asleep and I don’t want to pester Hanne any more than I need to, not after last night.”</em></p>
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<p>There was mirth on the other end, some barely-sensed laughter that didn’t quite rise to the level of coming through the message. Another tug at my emotions, more leftovers from Tule’s merge. <em>“It was rather stressful, was it not? You do not need to apologize, however. How are you feeling?”</em></p>
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<p>There was mirth on the other end, some barely-sensed laughter that didn’t quite rise to the level of coming through the message. Another tug at my emotions, more leftovers from Tule’s merge. <em>“It was rather stressful, was it not? You do not need to apologize. How are you feeling?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Honestly?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Please. I want to hear.”</em></p>
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<p><em>“I’m feeling like shit.”</em> I laughed, shaking my head. <em>“I mean, of course I am. I’m some awful mix of hopeful that there’s some solution, mourning Marsh, kicking myself for mourning them maybe preemptively, kicking myself for not doing more, and just plain confused.”</em></p>
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<p><em>“I’m feeling like shit.”</em> I laughed, shaking my head. <em>“I mean, of course I am. I’m some awful mix of mourning Marsh, hopeful that there’s some solution, kicking myself for mourning them maybe preemptively, kicking myself for not doing more, and just plain confused.”</em></p>
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<p>The Odists were an old clade — far older than any of us, having been born decades before the advent of the System — so it was no wonder that Dry Grass was far more adept at sensorium messages than anyone else I’d met. It wasn’t that I saw her lean back in her chair, nor that I felt the act of leaning back myself, but the overwhelming sensation that I got from that moment of silence was of her sighing, leaning back, crossing her arms over her front. I had no clue how she managed to pull that off. <em>“There is little that I can say to fix any one of those, and anything else would ring hollow. All I can do is validate that, damn, Reed, that is a shitload of emotions. There is a lot going on, and I do not blame you for feeling confused.”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Thanks,”</em> I responded, feeling no small amount of relief that she hadn’t tried to dig into any one of those feelings, nor even all of them as a whole. <em>“How are Tule and Cress holding up? Hell, how’re you holding up?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“They are asleep,”</em> she sent. I could hear the fondness in her voice. <em>“One of me is keeping an eye on them, pretending to sleep.”</em></p>
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<p>I snorted. <em>“Minus you, I guess.”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Well, yes. Nominally twenty of us,”</em> she sent, and I could sense that almost-laughter again. <em>“Though it is far more complicated than that.”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Sure seems complicated. Any news from Castor or Pollux?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Yes,”</em> she replied, then hesitated. <em>“Though would you be willing to go for a walk to discuss what I have heard?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“Yes, in a way,”</em> she replied, then hesitated. <em>“Though would you be willing to go for a walk to discuss what I have heard?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“I guess. Why?”</em></p>
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<p><em>“So I can get out of the house. So</em> you <em>can get out of the house. So we can actually talk instead of me sitting in a war room populated by too many of me and you making your bed or whatever it is you are doing now.”</em></p>
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<p>I hesitated, halfway through smoothing out the sheets. <em>“Oh, uh…alright. Let me say good morning to Hanne. Do you have a place to meet?”</em></p>
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<p>She sent the address of a public sim, to which I sent a ping of acknowledgement and a suggestion of five minutes’ time.</p>
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<p>Hanne sat at the dining room table, coffee in her hands, staring out at nothing, a sure sign that she was digging through something on the perisystem architecture. Probably poking her way through the feeds, looking for news. She had her own friends, after all, her own circle of co-hobbyists, those construct artists — oneirotects — who shared her interest in creating various objects and interactive constructs. She had her own people to care about that weren’t just me, weren’t just the Marshans.</p>
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<p>I chose to make myself another coffee instead, letting a cone of silence linger above me so that I didn’t disturb her, even though her eyes did flick up toward me once or twice, joined by a weak smile.</p>
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<p>“Want some space?” I asked once a new pot of coffee sat in the center of the table.</p>
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<p>I chose to make us another pot of coffee instead, letting a cone of silence linger above me so that I didn’t disturb her, even though her eyes did flick up toward me once or twice, joined by a weak smile.</p>
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<p>“Want some space?” I asked once the pot sat in the center of the table.</p>
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<p>“Kind of, yeah,” she said, voice dull. “Jess isn’t responding. She’s <em>there,</em> but not responding. Shu is gone though. Just…” A sniffle. “Completely gone. It’s like she was never even there in the first place.”</p>
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<p>I felt my expression fall. It was bound to happen, I figured; we knew enough people that if, as Dry Grass had said, millions had already been reported missing, Marsh wouldn’t be the only one.</p>
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<p>I reached forward to pat the back of her hand, which she tolerated for a moment before lifting it out of the way.</p>
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<hr />
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<p>We met in front of a small coffee shop. A bucolic small town main street lined with gas lamps and paved with cobblestones.</p>
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<p>“Coffee and chicory, yes?” Dry Grass said, offering me a paper cup.</p>
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<p>I nodded as I accepted. “Cress and Tule still drink that?”</p>
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<p>I nodded as I accepted. I had left my second cup of coffee back at home, half-finished. “Cress and Tule still drink that?”</p>
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<p>A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Much to my chagrin, yes.”</p>
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<p>“Not a fan?”</p>
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<p>She shook her head. “Too bitter for my tastes. Mocha, extra chocolate, extra whipped cream,” she said, lifting her own cup. “Apparently a sweet tooth can last more than three centuries. Who knew.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah, that sounds way too sweet for me,” I said, grinning.</p>
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<p>Grinning back, she gestured down the street in an invitation to walk, and we fell in step beside each other, saying nothing.</p>
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<p>She shook her head. “Too bitter for my tastes. Mocha, extra chocolate, extra whipped cream,” she said, lifting her own cup. “Apparently a sweet tooth can last more than three centuries. Who knew?”</p>
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<p>“Yeah, that sounds way too sweet for me,” I said, chuckling.</p>
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<p>Grinning to me, she gestured down the street in an invitation to walk, and we fell in step beside each other, saying nothing.</p>
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<p>The sim was, indeed, beautiful, though it did bear some trademarks of early sim design, with the cobblestones perhaps a little too perfectly fit together, a little too flat, and the hexagonal lamp posts bearing corners that were perhaps a little too sharp. Still, for a morning walk with coffee (my third of the day; I’d have to turn off the caffeine sensitivity later), it was ideal. The sim was quiet and calm, with the sun blessing the street with long shadows and cool air that felt on the path to warming.</p>
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<p>“It’s so quiet,” I observed. The act of speaking out loud into the still air was enough to knock me back into the context of what had happened. “Oh.”</p>
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<p>Dry Grass readily picked up on the meaning behind that syllable, nodding to me. “I do not imagine that it is so quiet because so many are missing, but I do think that many are staying home, hunting for lovers and friends, trawling the feeds. Heading out to public sims is, perhaps, not at the tops of their minds.”</p>
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<p>“Did she have anything to say about what might have happened?”</p>
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<p>“No, not particularly. When I say that she has confirmed guesses, what she has done is invite me to talk and simply agreed when something I have said is right, perhaps expanding on it by small amounts.” Her expression soured. “I get the impression that she would <em>like</em> to share more with me, but that she is simply not allowed to.”</p>
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<p>I frowned. “You mean someone’s keeping her from doing so?”</p>
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<p>“It is a hunch. Perhaps our communications are being monitored, and she is being instructed to limit the topics or to act in this way. Perhaps her implants limit her by NDA. While talking with Need An Answer, she suggested that this is also what the eighth stanza is used to doing, but they are the political ones.”</p>
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<p>“It is a hunch. Perhaps her implants limit her by NDA. Perhaps our communications are being monitored, and she is being instructed to limit the topics or to act in this way. While talking with Need An Answer, she suggested that this is also what the eighth stanza is used to doing, but they are the political ones.”</p>
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<p>I dredged up what history of the System I had learned, all of those sensationalist stories about the few old clades steering the direction of the lives of however many billions of uploaded minds and their instances — certainly well over two trillion, if one counted the two launch vehicles, Castor and Pollux that had been sent out seventy five years prior. More, if what Hanne said was right.</p>
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<p>“And they’d be sneaky like this, too?” I asked.</p>
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<p>A snort of laughter and she nodded. “Sneaky is one way to put it, yes. They shape interactions by second nature, for which a portion of the clade has distanced themselves from them. We — Hammered Silver’s up-tree instances — are not supposed to be speaking to any of them, but there are a few that I like plenty, and given our current status, I have begun interacting more openly with Need An Answer.”</p>
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<hr />
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-05-04</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-06-26</p>
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</footer>
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