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For AyeletThe Light of my Life

Futurity PublishingFirst Edition ©1993, Second Edition ©2009 Edo Segal

Cover Image by © Yaroslav Gerzhedovich http://bit.ly/5o6Unt

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Contents:1993

I Slant....................................................... 4II Evolving................................................ 8III Pippin.................................................12IV Death..................................................15

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I. Slant

The wave broke with a loud thunder on the rocks a few meters away from my feet, sending fumes of salt water into the air that entered my nostrils. I could taste the salt in my mouth. The cliff behind me concealed the city beyond and I was standing in solitude. It was a sad sight.

Here I was, a man named Bleak, a new American, the son of Archimedes, the plant. A "beach boy", thinking deep again. Deep into the doings of my forefathers and my conscience. This was a day of remembrance in our commune - remembrance of our plant age. The influence of the Public Domain Virtual Space had been decreased in honor of the day, revealing the color of the sky; an eerie shade of gray as opposed to the delightful blue of the virtual space usually imposed upon the dismal physical one.

A little strange to think that only a month ago, reality augmentation was in full swing at this very spot. It was Stoneworth’s greatest virtual event. As a tribute to the dying director, the municipality gave a free showing of the event for an entire week. Anyone coming to the beach at two o’clock heard the sound of the god-like voice-over booming from the sky.

   "So over the sea rich-haired Danae’s son,

    Perseus, on his winged sandals sped,

    Flying swift as thought,

    In a wallet of silver,

    A wonder to behold,

    He bore the head of the monster.

    While Hermes, the Son of Maia,

    The Messenger of Zeus,

    Kept Ever at his side."

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As the spectacle progressed, Andromeda, daughter of the Queen Cassiopeia, waited for her horrible death, tied to the rocky ledge of a small island a hundred or so meters from where I stood now. Kind Cepheus was standing right beside me, crying in frantic desperation, ripping his clothes, and begging for redemption from the gods. This redemption appeared in the form of a flying young man carrying the head of a snake-haired monster.

The appearance of the Serpent out of the ocean (one of the most magnificent virtual creations of all time, according to the critics) was accompanied by Andromeda’s scream, that sounded like a thousand messengers from hell.

At the last moment Perseus intervened, killing the Serpent, to the applause of my fellow spectators who watched the event. But no trace of that virtual event’s colorfulness remained now, as another wave broke; wetting my shoes.

In order not to shock the new inhabitants of New America, the influence of the virtual space had not been entirely eliminated. Bearing this in mind, I decided to take a walk from the beach to the park, in order to raise my spirits before I went to visit my father’s grave. I chose a face from one of my thousand faces- the one most resembling that of the young Perseus- and entered the park.

Although I am of plant descent, I had never considered myself a bigot; that is, until I met Lyia. She made me realize the crevasses in my superego, and my pre judgment of the slave descendants.

An old man was sweeping the grounds with a large wooden broom. His work sent the dry leaves flying into the air and he smiled to himself, not yet aware of my stare. White untended hair reached his shoulders and his face was weathered, lined with his experiences.

He looked a wise man who bore his wisdom even in his cleaning job. There was no virtual intervention in his weathered face and untended hair; from what I could tell, he was genuine. Lyia helped me see this.

I sat down near him, resting my back against the thick back of an old oak tree. The ground was still wet with dew. After deciding to watch this formidable man do his work, I chose a blade of grass from my left, picked it and stuck it in my mouth, flicking it with my tongue and enjoying the taste of the freshly torn leaf. How could he deny himself all this beauty by living in "half-blindness"?

At that moment he stopped his work and turned his head towards me. A large smile appeared on his face, as though he recognized me and was expecting my arrival, though I did not recollect ever seeing him before. I was uncomfortable with the idea of becoming the observed instead of the observer; this man could see my true face.

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He dragged the broom back on his left. He was leaning forward sort of hunched, due to the burden of a long life. The knowing smile was still on his face when he reached me and stared down.

"Part of thy father may be saved in thee." he said.

"Hunh?" I said. "Sorry?"

"What tidings sent our scouts?" he said, chuckling. "I prithee speak." I was confused.

"May I join you in your afternoon communion with mother nature?" he asked.

His smile had become cynical.

I made space for him by moving a bit to my left. I was fascinated by the presence of this man. He lowered himself carefully, like an insect, dropping the broom to his left. He didn't seem bitter to me. I think that is what so impressed me about him. Normally, the post-slaves living in half-blindness were rightfully bitter at life, but this man seemed to be content. Was that condescension or pity that he eyed me with?

"My name is Slant," said the old man, "son of Arkin the slave. As to your wonder, I was born into half-blindness to my fathers choice; I adopted his ideology when I came of age."

"My name is Bleak, son of Archimedes the plant." I replied. I was fascinated by the feel of his rough skin as he shook my hand.

"You probably don’t remember me, Bleak, but I knew your father. He, too, used to come and sit beside this very same post. We used to have long conversations on our forefather’s lives and our own. I remember you joining him as a child- you probably didn’t even realize you had come to the same post." At first I thought you were him, for you resemble him tremendously as a grown man. It took me a while to remember the decades past, and the fact that, today, descendants of slaves and plants are equal in the eye of time."

He asked me "What has become of you? Why have I not seen you since you were the height of my knee?"

I tried to remember my trips with my father to this spot. "My father and I grew apart with time," I offered.

 The park was sizzling with people seeking sanctuary from the harsh reality of this day so lacking in visual intervention. The thought of my alienation from my father subdued me as I visualized us playing together.

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"Will you also grow into a stubborn old bigot like your father, I wonder?" he mused, in an affectionate way. 

"My current partner in life is a woman slave-descendant named Lyia, daughter of Aaron." I told him. "Are you familiar with her?"

"No."

"She has thoroughly unveiled most of my bigot tendencies and I am doing my best to be rid of them, long before I turn old". 

"I see you don’t carry a sidearm, Bleak - not even a sword." he observed. "This in itself is evidence of a large difference between you and your father. He was extremely suspicious of us slave descendants. Or perhaps you are a pacifist?"

"No, just a beach boy, a New American at my best." I replied. "I’m a professional diver. Currently I’m working as a referee in the mini-sub competitions."

We settled into silence.

II. Evolving 

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We live both in virtual and in real space today, this was not always so. There was a period in human history when we lived only in virtual space but that phase bred an underclass that maintained the "plants". The "plants" were those people whose conscious reality was spent completely in virtual space, while their bodies reposed in complete physical passivity.   These people met, interacted, and even made love in virtual space.

The slaves, for their part, could only stand and stare at the white capsules bearing an aluminum name tag of the plant who occupied it. 

The ancient philosophical question "what is reality?" was no longer relevant. That problem was resolved in the 23rd century with the declaration of the PeDeVeSCaM (Public Domain Virtual Space Computer Mainframes) which paved the way for the evolution of the Joint Council and eventually the emergence of the new state. Children of the slave state would be born into a new reality not knowing anything else.

This situation created the most far reaching, and certainly controversial, ethical decision in human history. The Joint Council of the plants decided it was immoral to continue this slave state in which they enjoyed all the pleasure and stimuli of the virtual world whereas the "humans" spent their lives away in manual labor maintaining the plants and their own life support.

In February 2772, the Joint Council decided to begin a twenty-year program that would convert the public domain virtual space into a collective for all human beings, incorporating the virtual space with the physical one by means of brain implants. The implants bypassed the nervous system, thereby allowing an exchange between the PeDeVeSCaM and the human brain which did not contradict the existence of the physical worlds but instead merged the existing world with synthetic visions, smells, sounds, and even sensations of touch. This made it impossible for the humans to differentiate between what was physical and what was synthetic.

Through an intensive program of physiotherapy, the bodies of the elder generation of plants were slowly taught to function again. By the time they had realized what a mistake they made, it was too late to stop the wheel from turning. By the turn of the century there remained only a small colony of plants, scientists who excused their absence from the physical world with the means and thinking tools available for them only in virtual space. The promised system which would combine the virtual with the physical was slowly constructed. 

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Surprisingly, there was initially resistance amongst some of the slaves to the brain implant, and thus a number of them would spend the remainder of their lives in what grew to be called "half-blindness," either out of superstitious fear or a deep hatred for the virtual space and the centuries of slavery it had caused them. These people now walked in a neglected world, seeing none of the synthetic modifications furnished by the PeDeVeSCaM. An anti-virtual underground formed, aiming its guerrilla assaults mainly on the mainframe and the Joint Council House of Assembly. They based themselves on the belief that virtual reality was a source of evil.

The "liberators" of 2776 saw themselves as engaged in a battle for human nature, to eradicate class distinctions between the plant and slave descendants. A new term was coined; the "New Americans".

The older generation of ex-plants, who had "lived" the majority of their lives in a virtual version of the 21st century, but whose real bodies had atrophied from years of disuse, saw the New Americans as athletic, and in tune with the natural world.

But there was no longer much nature left due to centuries of neglect. New atmosphere generators were erected and at first the plant descendants turned to the sea where some nature was still intact. Many of them became what was to be known as ‘beach boys’. An entire industry was erected based on this love for the sea. Slave descendants also took part in this venture and, with time, the differences were slowly decreased among the two classes.

Once a year, on the second day of February, a day of remembrance was observed in honor of the slaves who had spent their lives denied of so much.

In a way I pitied Slant for not being able to see the majesty of this oak, the green of the grass, to hear the singing of the birds and to feel the heat of the sun as it filtered through the dense foliage overhead; but then I envied him for being able to see people as they really are without all their virtual additions making them younger, of different sex or whatever their imaginations could create and their money buy. At least he saw through that social hypocrisy.

I passed my right hand across my chest and laid it on the rough tree trunk, sensing the texture of the bark, moving my hand back and forth. I broke the long silence.

"Slant?" I said.

"Yes, son of Archimedes?"

"What do you see here?" I gestured at the oak before me. 

He was silent.

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"Well?" I persisted.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

I thought a moment. "Yes." I said." "Yes, I am."

"Well, I see this Lyia has taught you something after all."

He continued, a bit more condescendingly.

"Your hand is touching a rust corroded century old steel pipe. The diameter is about that of what I believe you see as a tree trunk. You are seated on a gray asphalt surface strewn with holes and patches of a darker black where repairs have been made. This surface, distressingly, is strewn with debris and is quite filthy. The sky is gray."

"I know." I spoke quietly. "It’s Remembrance Day- I saw the real sky by the ocean."

He went on. "A group of people such as yourself are walking over there, gesturing in the air as if it was alive, and manipulating unseen objects which appear to give them pleasure. Many of them are seated next to poles about twenty meters high. "Some of these people are just lying on their backs on the asphalt staring at the gray sky. I believe you think you have a leaf of grass in your mouth but nothing is there, actually. It’s all quite pathetic to me…. I must say." 

"It must seem to you that we live a lie." I said. 

"Well I guess it does" he said.

"I can say the same of your world, Slant." I said.

"You could." he said dubiously.

"Come on, I am as free a man as you are, Slant." I argued.

"Free man, ha! Freedom is not food. Freedom in itself will not feed your soul.

Freedom is the right to pick that food and this, human, is where you are abusing your privilege by making the wrong choice. The choice of living a lie; an illusion. It’s not even your illusion to begin with."

"Bleak," he pleaded, "Please spare me this discussion. I have long exceeded my lifetime’s hours spent in this dialogue."

 "I respect your wish. Slant" I said. "Please, don't judge me."

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"I…" He fell silent. "Forget it…" 

Here we were, eighty years after the so-called liberation, and Slant and I were as far from being equals as light is far from darkness.

 

 

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III. Pippin 

Virtual: being in fact, acting as, what is described, but not accepted openly or in name as such. (Taken from the ancient book archives, Title: The Advanced Learners Dictionary of Current English. Oxford University Press, London, 1973.)

 

Virtual see: "alternative". (Taken from The Advanced Learners Dictionary of Current English. Oxford University Press, London, 2574)

The uncomfortable silence between myself and the old man was broken by the familiar drumming of my aide’s feet running up from behind. It was the unmistakable run of a miniature adult. Pippin appeared in a somersault and landed at my right with a broad smile on his face. He was about a meter high with the body proportions of a small earth child, a head large by proportions to the rest of his body but more heavyset then a child. His feet were bare and hairy and he was wearing green corduroy pants, their legs rolled up to his knees, a red shirt and a blue vest. His hair was brown, his eyes blue and his nose reddish at its edge. His smile revealed a set of perfectly white teeth. He was a virtual being assigned to me by the power of my money and he was one of the best one could buy at present. Slant, of course, could not see him, and was a bit startled by my reactions to the seemingly empty air.

"And a good morning to you, Pippin." I said, returning his smile.

"Pippin?" asked Slant.

"Sorry, Slant." I turned my attention to the old man. "This is Pippin, my faithful aide. I would have made a proper introduction but I realize that he does not exist for you."

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"It merely appears to me that you are insane, but I understand. It is otherwise." he murmured.

"Thank you, Slant." I said. "Please give me a moment here. So, Pippin, what news do you bring, o my messenger of grace?"

"Kind sir, I shan’t play with words now, you have an urgent message from Lyia." said Pippin, cheerfully.

 "Please convey, Pippin."

He began."She asked that I remind you that it is Remembrance Day, and she believes you ought to have a weapon with you, as a precaution. She feels it is only matter of time before the underground attacks."

Great. The last thing I wanted to do was to give in to those fundamentalists.

Pippin continued."She put your sword on transfer hold, to be sent to the nearest mailbox upon your receipt of her message."

My father’s sword. I refused to carry a blaster, ever, but he had insisted upon my receiving thorough training in the arts of fencing and swordsmanship. The old blade was my one real concession to weaponry.

"Very well, Pippin" I sighed. "Please have the sword transferred here to the Central Park mailbox. Return my message of thanks to Lyia."

"Recorded sir. Shall I go to the mailbox and await the arrival of the sword?"

"Yes, Pippin, that would be good of you. I’ll wait here until you call me."

"Very Well, sir. I'll be seeing you shortly." Pippin ran off, intent on his new mission.

There was an odd look of puzzlement on old Slant’s face.

"Lyia wishes for me to be armed today. So my assistant has gone to fetch my father’s sword for me, just as a precaution."

The old man’s eyes lit up with sly bemusement.

"Oh, I remember that sword." he said. "The one with the red jewel."

"Yes, yes, that’s the one."

"Do you plan to go beyond the park on this day, Son of Archimedes the plant?"

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"Yes." I replied. "In fact, time is passing. I need to get to the cemetery, while its still daylight. It’s my annual pilgrimage to my father’s grave. I’ve enjoyed our chat, Slant." I replied, feeling none of my usual indifference.

" I wish you health and happiness, good sir.”

Slant nodded in farewell. "Pass now in peace, Son of Archimedes. May the tides bring you bounty."

 I had suppressed a lot of anger towards my father, and visiting his grave site was my way of letting it out year by year, bit by bit; a kind of provocation to the dead man’s memory. 

My father had carried the flag of letting the past die in order to forget his period as a plant. On his deathbed he had asked me to continue my life with my eyes to the future, not the past.

This man forged me into his fantasies. All that was denied from him would be mine. He was the one who had pushed me to the sea, the athletics, fencing. The burden was so heavy that at the age of seventeen I left home. It had been a desperate attempt to break free of my self-hatred for being a plant descendent. But I was tired of living my father’s unfulfilled dreams.

 I had not seen much of him since, and this was my way of showing him that I could not deny our past. My talk with the old man had revived some good memories of my father for the first time in years. And something seemed to be waiting for me in that un-virtual cemetery this time.

 

  

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IV. Death 

"I hear some violent activity about a kilometer from us due east, sir." Pippin said, as he and I walked side by side.

Pippin, of course, could not hear or see. see. He saw through my eyes, seeing only what my eyes saw, just as he smelled only what I smelled and heard only what I heard.

However, because he was a virtual being, he could do much more with the information than I could. The computer would amplify each sense a thousand-fold. It would analyze every frame, enlarging the suspicious parts, examining every piece of data thoroughly whereas I would simply ignore most of the information.

"Any gunfire?" I asked calmly. The noise was far away.

"Not yet" he replied. "It seems… It’s concerning some personal differences. Nothing to worry about.

We continued our walk, Pippin singing:

    "My body’s my vessel,

    As I sail forth.

    The shores of time keep me at bay.

    For a life never ending,

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    I search while I can.

    Inspiration, electric, propels me.

    With all of my vigor, my hunger as guide,

    I sing a song most eternal.

    A song written by so many, but sung by so few…

    A dust mote in the eye of infinity."

 

Pippin was heading into one of his gloomy moods, which in this case was most appropriate.

Out of respect for all people-whether of plant or slave descent-virtual intervention was barred from the cemetery. So by the time my little manic depressive friend and I reached the parameter, the eerie sky had become covered with clouds, turning the graveyard a dark shade of blue.

A shiver went up my spine as I passed through the cemetery gate. The sound of the birds and the wind, the smell of nature in the air: all was muted at once. I felt as though I had been plunged under water. All my senses were hit with the grim surroundings.

The land was approximately a square kilometer; totally flat, not a single crease shaped the gray asphalt surface. All around, rectangular planks of aluminum marked the burial places of the dead. The gravestones were separated by two meter-wide strips of asphalt in each direction, and the circular order of the burials left a spot in the middle of the large field, empty of inhabitants.

I was alone as I started crossing the field to my right towards my father’s grave. The sound of my feet on the asphalt echoed in my skull. Even that noise seemed an intrusion. Pippin walked behind me, quietly adopting to the mood he felt appropriate.

There was no one else of our family to add loving remarks on the aluminum plate. One tends to lose most of one’s friends when one lives to the age of 425. I was the only one left and I had not seen him for seven years before his death.

I knelt beside the grave and wiped some dirt off the letters, revealing the once shiny appearance of the plate. I asked Pippin to forgive me and to keep an eye from an invisible distance. He transformed himself into a small green frog and then hopped away towards the cemetery’s entrance, while I descended into memories of my father.

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Visions of us playing together in the park reappeared and for the first time in years I succeeded in suppressing my resentment. I sat by his grave for a few minutes. At last I was recollecting, feeling the brighter portions of our mutual past.

Just as I was about to leave Pippin reappeared. He seemed frightened.

"I hear three people running in our direction from beyond the fence due north!" he blurted, with none of his usual playful spirit.

 

"So?" I said casually, still kneeling by the grave. This time I knew I was wrong as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

"Bleak!" He called me by my name: that was a first. "Stand your ground, Bleak. Sword in hand."

"Oh come on Pippin" I said, irritated. "You can’t be-"

"Sword in hand! please! " he was terrified, nearly crying. I had never seen him like this.

"Pippin, what gives? I’ve never seen you like-"

"Reference: three hundred and sixty degrees!" he insisted.

"All right Pippin" I said, giving in. "Have it your way.

I surrendered, stood and unsheathed my father’s golden sword and then proceeded with the alert drill by turning a complete circle, thus entering as much visual data into Pippin’s faculties as was possible.

Pippin began the sequence. "Inha…"

"Pippin. I know the drill!" I said testily.

I took two deep breaths through my nose in order to gather the smells, and finally knelt and touched the ground with my free right hand for vibrations. Pippin was pacing, manically. "Oh dear." he sputtered. "Oh dear, Oh dear, Oh dear."

By this point I realized that the situation was serious. "Pippin!" I said. "What is it?"

His face was wet from tears. "There are three of them, sir."

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He stopped and pointed toward the north part of the cemetery, his hand trembling. "One of them carries a blaster with a laser-scope."

That meant there was no use in running. Our glances met in a moment of understanding. Confrontation was inevitable and the results quite predictable.

Pippin collapsed with his face in the asphalt, shaking. One thought raced through my mind as I spotted the threesome running frantically toward me. I would stand my ground as a true New American. I parried my sword, aimed at my assailants, my right arm to my side.

 

"On your feet, Pippin! " I ordered my terrified aide. "Get a grip. I’ll need all the help I can get. Start analyzing the data."

They were only a hundred meters from me. I was outnumbered and out-gunned.

"I’m a New-American." As I said it I realized it was my father’s voice speaking. The same tendencies I was trying to avoid my entire mature life were to be my traits in these final moments.

The first round hit my right shoulder and it flung me face-down on the ground. The pain was immense and I almost lost consciousness. I could hear them behind me as they regained their breath. One of them was laughing.

"Look here! " He pointed. "Look at the plate. He was right. I told you he could be trusted."

I tried desperately to raise myself but could only barely raise my head. Pippin was on his knees right in front of me, a look of desperation on his disfigured wet face.

"What will become of us sir?" he whimpered.

"Give… data" I croaked out.

It took him a second. Then: "The one I believe that is carrying the gun is standing between your legs with the gun pointed at your head, the gun is approximately a meter above you."

"Let’s get it over with, Red." The voice seemed to come from the leader who was standing a few meters to my back. I realized this was to be my last chance. I concentrated all of my strength in one swift blow to where I believed the gun was, flipping to my back, the sword

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hit the blaster at its half-section, throwing it from the man’s hand. I passed out to shouting.

When I regained consciousness, I was held by two men, and the one I had struck stood in front of me with my sword in his hand.

"You wrecked our blaster!!!" He sniffled. "D- Die plant scum!!!"

He screamed as he ran the sword through my chest and back out, I could see the blood dripping from it and the man’s hate-filled eyes as the two let go of me and I fell face down on the asphalt. The warm sensation of blood touched my chin.

"Slant, you old bastard…."

I whispered my last words to the sound of Pippin weeping beside me. By the time the hover-cycles could be heard overhead it was too late. 

I wasn’t really mad at the old man. I was just dead.

 

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END OF EVENT

PHASE: RECREATIONAL

SPACE: RECREATIONAL SPACE, PERSONAL

EVENT INFO:

START: 21:33:22 1/FEB/2776

END: 23:58:02 1/FEB/2776

NEXT DUE EVENT: JOINT COUNCIL MEETING

PHASE: PUBLIC DOMAIN

SPACE: HOUSE OF ASSEMBLY P.D.

START: 24:00:00

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