#4: Anthropolis One: The Never Clock

10:30 pm

After his grandfather went off to bed, Jonah decided to connect with his friends online, logging into a fully virtual social zone. It was an activity that Jonah had neglected for several months as he’d become consumed with his grandfather’s research. He knew it was way past time to get back in touch now that Nathan was forcing him to branch out. Jonah opted for a larger version of his daily augmented reality glasses, a pair with much larger lenses that filled his complete periphery of vision, and more suitable to fully virtualized interfaces. Jonah settled into his chair as the social area snapped into focus around him. A bright day in a tropical setting, with sprawling red brick patios dappled in the shade of swaying palm trees.

In the distance, he could see people engaged in various games and sports while a turquoise surf foamed on the horizon. A large book floated in front of him, displaying the names and personal persona icons of his friends, and Jonah flipped through the simulated sun-dried and weather-worn paper pages to see who was around. He was not surprised to see one of his longest childhood friends, Alexx, was online. While they had not connected in a few months, her presence was comforting, and he tapped in immediately to invite her to meet. The answer was nearly immediate, “Long time no see bud! But you’ll have to find me first!”

Jonah smirked to himself. His friends often met in similar general meet-up zones. Lately, it had become somewhat of a sport to disguise themselves in the crowds and make a game of finding each other by recognizing subtle references or details in their otherwise unrecognizable virtual bodies. Jonah looked away from the book and spotted a beautiful young woman in a bikini lounging in the shade, poolside. She was one of many, but she wore a watch that seemed out of place. Jonah walked over to her, noticing as he got closer that it was a battered and ancient-looking watch, the hour and minute hands formed by the cartoon arms of a black and white cartoon mouse. “Found the happiest place on earth, have you?” he said with a smile while admiring the feminine curves of the model his friend had chosen.

She looked up with disgust, eyeing his generic and stiff-looking virtual outfit with mock disdain. “Ugh, Jonah, you’re so boring. Why don’t you try on something new once in a while? Do you just grab the first default skin for every staging zone you log?”

Jonah smiled broadly, “Hey Alexx, look, you can dress up however you like, but I can always spot you a mile away.” Looking down at his own virtual outfit, he said apologetically, “My VR gear is quite basic, you know that. Even if I found a unique skin, it wouldn’t be any more expressive than the defaults. You, on the other hand...”

She sat up and pouted dramatically as she looked down at herself and grasped her virtual breasts like she was testing the ripeness of fruit, “What, you don’t like these? They seem kinda fun!”

Jonah laughed as she let out a dramatic sigh. Alexx said, “So what’s the deal? You pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth after we graduated. This is the first time I’ve heard from you or seen you online in weeks; why do you always want to meet in these dull old retirement zones anyway? I pretty much can’t talk anyone into joining us whenever you do login. Did you notice that? I was a bit shocked to hear from you. In a good way, though.”

Jonah shrugged and looked around, “Sorry Alexx, it’s… well, it’s a bit of a long story. I dunno. These places just seem kinda interesting to me. And you know I only have the most basic VR gear, so I’m missing out on what you guys can do most of the time. But whatever, I just really wanted to talk to you anyway, as it has been too long, and I’m really sorry. It’s great to see you, glad I caught you online. I’ll connect with everyone else as soon as I can.”

Alexx just shrugged and popped an outlandish pair of sunglasses on with a grunt. “Ya ya, of course. It’s good to see you, too, even though your taste in skins is lame as fuck. I suppose, in a way, it makes you easy to spot too. NOT in a good way, either.”

Jonah sat down next to her on the end of the lounge chair, “Listen, Alexx, can we talk for a minute? I need to ask you something a bit personal. I feel somewhat weird about it. I can hardly believe I’ve never asked this before.”

“Ooh, fire away!” she said with mock exaggeration.

Jonah hesitated, “Alexx… where do you live in real life?”

Blinking her heavily made up and slightly over-large eyes, as she lowered her sunglasses and shaking her head slightly, Alexx replied, “Uh, well, you know, I live in the city, right? I mean, who doesn’t?” And then with a conspiratorial tone, “where do you live?” emphasizing and drawing out ‘yooou’ with innuendo.

“Well, that’s just it; I don’t know which city you mean, much less what area of a city that might even be.” Jonah sighed, “I don’t… live… in a city anyway.”

More serious now, Alexx was taken slightly aback. “Not in a city? What are you foreign or, I dunno… like really poor or something? It’s okay, I guess I just always assumed you lived somewhere pretty much like me. You know; big tower, business complex below, parks and rec above. That sorta thing? What do you mean not the city? Wait! You don’t live in the Protectorate zones, do you? Get out! That would be so cool!” Alexx smacked his virtual arm, which drew exactly zero reaction because he wasn’t wearing any haptics. “Oh, that’s it, isn’t it! You live in the sticks! That’s why you always have these lame-ass generic skins on, no haptics or anything! I knew it.”

Jonah grimaced, “Eh, well not exactly, no. Listen, it doesn’t matter much where I live. I am asking because I’m kind of being kicked out, and I thought I might come and visit you. You know, in person.”

Now it was Alexx’s turn to get uncomfortable, “Oh right… right.” She laughed nervously. “Funny, this has never come up before. Um, ya sure that would be fine. Let me check my calendar and get back to you.” Alexx looked uncharacteristically bashful, “You know my offline time is pretty hectic. Lots of stuff going on, you know how it is. I barely have time to get in here myself these days.” Looking back up, “Wait, what do you mean kicked out? Family problems with your grandfather? I’ve known you since we were kids Jonah, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard anything that seemed even close to you having actual problems at all.”

Jonah replied, “Uh, it’s a little more complex but wait a second, what do you mean 'check your schedule'? Are you giving me the brushoff? What’s wrong with meeting in person? I thought you, of all people, would be more enthusiastic?”

Alexx growled in slight exaggeration, “Oh god, Jonah why do you have to be so frickin perceptive?” Alexx sighed exhaustedly, “look, I’m going to level with you. I’ve known you too long to try and hide this, and it’s not like it’s really a secret to most everyone else. I don’t get out in real life too much, like at all, okay? I would actually have to look up where I actually exist, you know? Like it’s been, a while.”

Jonah frowned in his glasses, but his virtual face remained placid, “What do you mean? Not too much? You just log off for food and sleep?”

Alexx just looked down at the ground and shook her head. Without looking up, “No, I mean, I can’t log off for more than a few minutes. My parents are, ah shit, this is just too much info all of a sudden I…” she faltered to catch her shaking breath before looking up. Jonah was in a slightly disconnected way, a bit amazed at how good her emotional facial capture actually worked even in this low-rent retirement zone. “My parents Jonah, they’re those type of people that locked themselves in fifteen years ago. You know you hear about them often enough; they couldn’t handle the refugee wars. They were part of that massive evacuation from the coast in the late '80s. They had to leave it all behind when I was just a baby. And I guess when they got here, well, you know, they just completely embraced the Anthropolis mindset. Logging out is close to a religious sin or something, and they seriously freak out. If I even bring it up, which I haven’t for years. They need me here with them.”

Jonah was alarmed. “I don’t know what to say, Alexx,” he paused, at a loss for words, “listen it's OK. Thank you for being honest with me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I have to say it doesn’t seem like a good idea. You know you read those stories about what happens to your body…”

Alexx laughed bitterly, “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. Do you want to know what my main hobby is? Researching, ordering, and managing all the best haptics, all the most advanced materials and bio cleansers, maintenance systems, you name it. I mean, it’s not so bad for me, I’m young, and I’ve had the best gear most all my life. My gear is pretty damn sorted if I say so myself. But my parents? Jonah, it’s not pretty.”

Jonah’s eyes widened, “I hate to be morbidly fascinated here, Alexx, but what can I do to help? It might make you feel better to know that I have access to, uh, uncommon resources when it comes to this specific area.”

Alexx raised an eyebrow, “Oh ya? OK, well, I will probably take you up on that, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She breathed deeply and closed her eyes for a second before continuing, “So, alright um let’s start with my father, OK? First off, I don’t think he is actually aware that he no longer has legs or most of his right arm.” She leveled an expectant gaze at Jonah to let that sink in for a moment. Jonah just swallowed and said, “Alright, that’s for starters. Gotcha. Next?”

“My mother is in a complete bio-stasis module. She’s all tubes and pumps; she can’t move.” Alexx was on the verge of tears, “In here, she thinks she’s in some kinda Gundam style mobile body mech suit, which is why she can’t sense anything with touch, but she can still walk around. Her personal fiction includes some accident that destroyed all her nerve endings or some shit like that.” Now the tears were evident, “I don’t think she even knows anymore, Jonah. She’s forgotten there is even a real world. If I log off, she’ll think I died. What’s worse, my father is actively forcing me to encourage this. He’s afraid that if I go anywhere for too long, she’s going to remember…,” Alexx trailed off, focusing her attention toward the water.

Jonah contemplated his own situation for a moment. He slid what he considered to be his “large” glasses off his head. He focused on the comfortable and spacious surroundings of his grandfather’s ancient library and den. He looked down at his hands, his clothes. He wasn’t wearing even the most basic haptic set, all his movements being simulated through simple control pads on the arms of his chair. Jonah rubbed his eyes for a moment before popping the glasses back over his eyes to rejoin Alexx.

“Look, Alexx, I am so sorry. I feel like I’ve been selfish by always assuming our situations were somewhat similar. So, now it’s time for me to level with you, OK?” Alexx just looked up with a sad smile, sniffled a bit, and nodded.

“My real name is Jonah Bishop MacMillan. My grandfather is Nathan MacMillan. I don’t live in the city, but I don’t live in the outlands either. I live in the heart of the MacMillan research district, a zone that many people simply call the north range research center. I’ve lived here my entire life too, but I am not going to say it’s exactly a prison.”

Alexx’s eyes grew wide for a moment before narrowing with anger, “Hah! Oh, that’s just great, man. Fuck you. You drop that kinda bullshit on me after I open up like this. Come on. I’ve known you since we were kids! That sort of lie isn’t going to make me feel better. As if you’re actually related to Nathan MacMillan, the founder of Advanced Nanometrics! I mean, for one, the guy would be way too old to be your grandfather. Wasn’t he actually born in, like, the goddam early twenty-first century? He’d be like a hundred and thirty-five years old you shithead. Do your homework at least.”

Jonah was stung, but he pressed on. “That’s pretty good Alexx, I’m impressed. He’s actually one hundred and thirty, and he’s my grandfather. I am not making this up. I am sorry I have kept this from you, of all people, for so long, but there are a few reasons why I can’t just be myself pretty much anywhere. But I am trusting you now, and I’m serious. I want to help you. I can help you.”

Alexx just stared at Jonah, “Crap, I think you’re actually serious here. So you mean this shitty skin set, your constantly kinda lame-ass nice guy bland as protein-tube stats are a cover for the fact that you’re related to the Nathan MacMillan and he’s actually still alive?”

Jonah nodded, “Yes, it is, and yes, he is! In fact, he pretty much stopped physically aging more than sixty years ago. Honestly, I am impressed that you even know who he is. My father was fifty-seven when I was born, and he was also just fifty-eight when he and my mother died in an accident. I’ve lived with my grandfather ever since, but he’s just recently started to get a bit weird about how old he is. But that doesn’t matter, this evening, I was feeling just kinda dejected, but now I feel like an asshole for never really asking you about stuff that really matters. All this time, I could have helped you. Tell me where you are Alexx, I’ll come to help you, your parents.”

“I’m sorry I called you a bland protein tube.” Alexx shook her head and looked away, “Nah, it’s OK, really. I don’t know why I broke down there. I could have been more open too. The truth is, I don’t really mind my situation. I’m in control here, and my parents do need me. I’ve got a pretty decent new gig with a local security corp., might even get clearance for some really interesting shit, you know? Get out into the outlands, maybe even really help people. Lots of people have it way worse. But you? Wow, this is pretty heavy. Of course, I know who Nathan MacMillan is, he’s sortof the reason my parents are even still alive, and I know what he helped create. I’m a bit more in awe right now than I really want to let on.”

Jonah shook his head slowly, “I’m no expert about how it is for most people, Alexx, I know that. But I know what it means to be free, and you’re not free. You don’t have to abandon your parents, but they shouldn’t keep you in this life, you know that too, right?”

Alexx looked up at Jonah for a moment, and her face and clothing changed in a flicker. Changing from the mildly pornographic bikini model to a much younger looking woman, dark-eyed with a slightly Asian look and wildly impossible, glittering blue hair that swirled around her head like a slow-motion tornado of rippling waves. “This is a little more me, right?”

“That’s more like it!” Jonah smiled. “So, how about you figure out where you are, I’m going to pack my bags and come meet you. For real.”

Alexx remained sombre, “I’m serious though, I really am going to have to break through some layers here. I know that we’re in one of the medical complex zones, I remember a few details when my parents first moved in when I was maybe 4 years old, but that’s about it. I’ve got some friends here I can talk to, and I think they can get me on the right track to some real latitude and longitude. As it stands right now, I’ve lost track of which corporate consolidation is managing things.”

“I’ll see what I can do on my side too. If you are in a medical facility, I’ve got more than a few contacts. Send me your parents names, dates, all that.“ Jonah said.

Alexx smiled, “Thanks Jonah, I’m glad to see you again.” She moved to hug him, but his simple virtual skin was just a wooden mass with the most basic response gestures. He raised the virtual arms in what amounted to a puppet-like awkwardness, and Alexx stepped back with a disgruntled frown. “Now that I know you can afford it, you better show up next time with some proper haptics.”

Jonah chuckled “Alright, I’ll dig some up.” Alexx winked and tapped a metallic-looking badge that was pinned to her denim coat.

“Beam me up,” she said with a wink. With that, a shimmering swirl effect encased her body, accompanied by an undulating ringing of bells and chimes while she faded out of sight.

Dammit, Jonah thought to himself with a smile, now I will have to figure out what that was a reference to.

Following his conversation with Alexx Jonah sat quietly in his grandfather’s comfortable family room and contemplated his current situation. Outside, the night had settled into a deep blackness. Daisy snored reassuringly on her traditional spot beside his chair, her simple yet warm awareness a constant comfort. Above a large river-stone fireplace across the room, hung an impossibly antique wall television, its' matte black face slightly flecked with dust. Jonah couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it in operation, however, his earliest memories included sitting in this room with his grandfather, watching hockey & the news on that screen. Jonah remembered watching the network newscasts, an idea he now found to be strangely quaint, but extremely comforting. He recalled how the news used to cause stress and worry with his grandfather and often lead to the set being turned off abruptly, subjects changed hastily. Jonah was briefly tempted to turn on the set again and see if it could still browse anything. But the prospect of interminable software updates and impossibly outdated hardware made him think better of it. Instead, he decided to check the news feeds by putting his glasses back on.

“Hey Geo, what’s happening in the news this evening?”

Jonah’s virtual assistant’s voice replied over the room audio, “Good evening Jonah. Good to hear from you again. It’s been a while since you activated me. What can I help you with, perhaps the latest stats on the Battlestar tournaments?”

“Nah, no Battlestar, I’m not really into that anymore, I just had a conversation with my friend Alexx, and she needs my help. But, it’s nothing too serious. I think I just want to catch up on local news.”

“Understood. We’ll talk about Alexx later then. Here’s some news you’ll be interested in. It has more than a few links to an old colleague of your grandfathers, who also happens to be a grandmaster-level Battlestar player. But this story isn’t about him directly; this is the top story of the evening for nearly everyone.” Jonah raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Interesting, let’s see it.”

The newsfeed video appeared in Jonah’s view just over the coffee table.

“Reports are surfacing related to drone cloud attacks in the western foothills protectorate camps today. Hailey Jonstone of the AMTA has obtained on-site footage from a contracted security drone allegedly near the latest attack. We take you now to that footage.”

The video switched abruptly to wide-angle video clearly from the vantage point of a bipedal security drone. A news network caption graphic was superimposed in the lower-left corner of the image, with the text “footage and commentary courtesy of Hailey Jonstone, AMTA Reporter.”

The video's surroundings undulated in the approximate timing of a saunter through a densely packed crowd, clearly captured from the viewpoint of the drone, some thirty centimeters above the head of the average person around it. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky above, casting high contrast shadows on the grimy and sullen faces of a crowd of thousands. The camera caught many wary looks of those directly around it, but otherwise the crowd appeared calm and orderly. Most ignored the drone completely. They were apparently waiting in line for something, but everyone slowly made way for the imposing machine in their midst.

In the background, a distinctive high-pitched hum grew suddenly louder; the unmistakable sound of many small mechanical flying drones. The crowd's reaction in the video was immediate, screams and people immediately running for cover, many covering their faces with their hands. The angry buzz quickly became augmented by loud popping noises. The pops were initially sparse but quickly grew to a steady firecracker staccato of noise, punctuated by screaming. The camera point of view remained placidly steady, lacking any frantic side-to-side looking around that would suggest a human operator. In a few points in the crowd in the camera’s field of view, puffs of pink mist clouds matched some of the louder sounding pops. As the crowd thinned and the popping abruptly ceased, many prone bodies became visible around the viewpoint, each with a rather distinctive messy looking mass where their heads would normally be.

Jonah winced. As a free media network feed, the footage was always raw and unedited, but even the most ardent free media advocate would often cut out the worst of the details. Not this one. The reporter's voice-over came on over the still placid and unaltered pace of the walking sentry drone.

“In what can only be another attack on refugees of the western foothills containment and processing camps, we see here the awful aftermath of another drone cloud attack. For those unfamiliar with drone cloud attacks, this method of attack has become the preferred method of the regional protectorate coalitions worldwide. Drone clouds, sometimes numbering more than one hundred thousand units, are small, fast-moving units using a simple quad-copter design. Each autonomous unit is programmed with a facial recognition profile, a high-definition onboard camera, and a shaped explosive charge. Once a target is identified, the drone approaches its target at more than one hundred forty kilometers per hour and detonates the shaped charge as it contacts the victim’s forehead. While such drone attacks have been a common menace in the Asia Pacific regions for many years, they have been relatively uncommon in the Western Americas. Today’s attack represented the third such attack in as many weeks, with the confirmed death toll being sixteen hundred and thirty-seven people. No drone components or fragments large enough for identification have been found on-site, indicating that the number of drone cloud units precisely matched the victim count. Or put another way, a kill rate of one hundred percent.” The narrator paused for a few moments. “Many of the casualties in today’s attack have been confirmed as belonging to a fringe Humanist movement organization, locally known as the Zeroes. It is presumed that in the coming days, all of those counted in today’s action will likely be identified as members as well.”

The video continued with no voice-over for thirty seconds. The security drone continued its patrol at the same easy pace, now with plenty of room to move. The field now empty aside from scattered heaps composed of sobbing family members around dead loved ones. Many heaps were simply lonely dead bodies. No loved ones or friends to speak of.

The video feed continued, the focus of the sentry now apparently being on the faces, or what was left of the faces, of each victim. The twisted body of one came into view, apparently still somehow conscious. A high-powered weapon snapped into view, just before the video cut to black and then cutting to the face of a serious-looking young woman, with large glasses of a frameless adhesive design. “A spokesperson for the WRCP provided the following comment.” The video cut from the face of the reporter to a pudgy red-faced man. He wore no glasses, the sides of his neck bulging over the collar of a tight jacket that looked to be made of rigid and thick fabric. His expression was clearly uncomfortable. “The WRCP has complied fully with the international coalition on terrorist identification processes. All of today’s targets were positively identified as members of the terrorist organization known as the Zeroes, a confirmed Humanist coalition.” He emphasized 'humanist' with mild distaste before continuing with what sounded like a hint of pride, “Further, we can report a one hundred percent accuracy rating for today’s action, to which we thank our subcontractor, Secure Dynamics Systems.” The video cut back to the reporter, who simply looked at the camera in silence for a moment and swallowed visibly before signing off, “Hailey Jonstone, AMTA.” The video cut to a jubilant advertisement for the latest mobile camera, advertising the latest high definition on-board 3D imaging, before Jonah stopped the feed.

Jonah breathed deeply before exhaling a shuddering slow, “Goddammit.”, as he took off his glasses. Daisy, snoozing with her large head of gentle velvet folds on her front paws, snapped to attention and made a very clear question in her throat, ‘ermf’?

“No, not yet Daisy, just getting up for some water.” Jonah stood up to head to the kitchen, and put his glasses back on, “Hey Georgia, what was that other news item you mentioned? Hopefully, something a little less horrifying?”

Jonah’s virtual assistant answered, “One of your regular shows is streaming a special live event this evening, the Plastic Planet Battlestar Arena Review. They have a special guest; grandmaster player Darkstreider is being interviewed.”

Jonah shrugged as he filled a glass with water, “Eh, I dunno. Battlestar is getting a bit tired.”

“This may be of interest to you though, as you know Dr. Hamilton Bosch is Darkstreider, but you may not know he has been a close friend and colleague to your grandfather for many years. They are apparently extending a special pre-game interview to discuss today’s anti-terrorist attacks with him.”

Jonah raised an eyebrow at that, “Well, not exactly lighter, is it? But you’re right, I’d be interested in hearing what he has to say. I was vaguely aware Gramps knew Dr. Bosch, but I didn’t know they were friends.”

“I’ll que it up. You may wish to use a different headset for this stream. It is a live event, beginning in a few moments.”

Jonah returned to his seat and gave Daisy a scratch behind her ears. “I’ll head to bed in a minute Daisy, just going to watch one more show. She plopped her head back down on her paws immediately, disappointment visible in her eyes. The feed had been recorded in a virtual studio, so there was an option to switch to a semi-immersive view. Jonah was able to look around as if he were in the audience, which he opted for, and continued the show.

The host hovered above a sparse stage with a simple black curtain backdrop, before an audience of perhaps two hundred people. The feed stats were huge, showing approximately 15 million people were currently joining the feed. The visualized part of the crowd had the uniquely bizarre mix of a virtual group of people; fantastic representations that included almost nothing that looked like a real human being. The host was represented by a large yellow circular smiley face hovering above the stage. The most basic icon in the loosely, universal, visual language of emoji. There was nothing about this presentation that appeared to strike anyone in the audience as ironic. It was simply the way these sorts of public event streams were displayed. The host began in a subdued and hushed manner, contrary to the usually boisterous and sarcastic tone his show was known for.

“Welcome to the Plastic Planet. Thank you, everyone, for joining us today for this very important discussion, in light of the recent events reported from the western border zone.” The host said this quietly, through a banal plastic yellow face with two back dots for eyes and a placid smile defined by a simple black curve. “Today, we are joined by a very special guest. A renowned expert in the field of advanced social algorithmics. Although we all know him on this show to be a regular champion in Battlestar, he has agreed to join us on our pre-game show as our guest.”

The studio was filled with what passed for virtual applause, a cacophony of crowd sound effects from the various attendees that included; air horns, recordings of stadiums full of cheering fans, and music samples from rock songs with heavy bass. The host waited for the noise to die down. The host continued, “Please continue to welcome none other than Dr. Hamilton Bosch!”

On the stage, the curtain parted around what could only be described as a behemoth of a man, a wild caricature of a mix between a caveman and a football player. He wore a large set of asymmetrical shoulder armor, straight from a role-playing fantasy game. To knowledgeable viewers, that was exactly what it was; a signature outfit from one of the more famous players of the popular game title. His face was broad and angular with deep-set eyes that shone red and bright, under an impossibly heavy brow which sloped steeply toward a bald head covered with intricate tattoos.

“Thank you, everyone,” his voice, a deep basso that sounded amplified and attenuated. He lowered himself into the oversized chair on the stage that had been set for him. He cocked an eyebrow up as his host began the discussion.

“Obviously, many are stunned at the fascist tactics that the WRCP now appears to be employing against Humanist movement sympathisers. Perhaps you have an alternate perspective, doctor?”

Hamilton cleared his throat before settling back into the rather large chair that had been conjured to accommodate his oversized virtual body.

“Well, you could say that yes. But first, I think it is important to understand what we are really witnessing in events like this. Especially using the word fascist. What is that exactly? If you’re a Cascadian, you may very well classify the WRCP as a fascist government. If you live in the WRCP, some of you may very well call the Cascadians fascist. Subjective point of view and personal ethics are entirely too subjective.”

The host’s yellow face remained banal. “What would you call it then?”

“My best attempt at an objective definition is that a ‘fascist’ includes any governmental policy or social movement that favors the destruction of individual thought, at any level. It arguably is a suitable label when policies or actions support whatever blindly lumbering direction the great beast of group-think happens to be taking at any given moment. No matter who is in power around the globe, we have seen many incidents and behaviors that could all be classified as fascist when applying an objective definition for the past several years. So who is right to call one act of violence or repression fascist while defending another violent action as anti-fascist? Simply because you’re on that particular side?”

The host bowed his slab-like body awkwardly before rotating his head toward the audience, “Food for thought indeed. I appreciate your insight, Dr. Bosch. For the benefit of those few people in our audience who may not be familiar with you, would you mind providing some background on your field of study?”

“Yes, fine, although this is not what I agreed to join your show to talk about tonight,” Dr. Bosch rumbled, “Social algorithmics, and the related sub-fields of biological and artificial algorithms are my primary focus. This is essentially the study of emergent patterns in communities consisting of large numbers of autonomous entities.” A wan smile sat on his face as he waited for this to sink in. “That is what I am most well known for, at least.”

“And by large numbers, you mean more than a million?” the host prompted.

Dr. Bosch nodded slightly in acknowledgment and completed the sentence. “More than hundreds of millions, often billions, yes. While smaller sample sizes are sometimes applicable, the macro-scale study is my area of specialty. This requires very large numbers, many generations if you will.”

“Fascinating. Thank you for that background, Dr. Bosh. Given today’s events, you have at times been both a vocal advocate for the Humanist movement while also often refusing to condemn similar atrocities on either side. Today’s events were clearly planned and executed by WRCP security contractors. Do you care to clarify where you stand for everyone here today, in light of recent events on the protectorate border zone?”

“I will attempt it, but of course, everyone knows that I have links to many of the protectorate contractor companies. So any stance I may have personally will naturally be taken as biased. I would simply state that we all must consider carefully the consequences that come from relying on tools we do not fully understand.”

The host face winked to an expression of contemplation, “Are you saying you don’t understand how some of the companies you either own or helped establish, work?”

Bosch raised an eyebrow, “It would be a mistake to say that I consciously designed or even had a direct hand in forming the groups or companies that connect themselves with me personally. It is more accurate to say they have only licensed some of my software. I have regularly consulted with the developers of various systems that use it. I advise on how to apply the technology best. I am as shocked and chilled by the events as anyone would be. But to say that I can’t see the impact of my early research on parts of these events would also be false. I will simply end the topic by saying that I do not approve of this particular application of the technology.” Hamilton waved his virtual weapon, a massive steampunk-inspired battleax, in a horizontal sweep before pitching his voice in a tone to address the audience rather than his host.

“But this is not why I am really here today. I agreed to join this show today, to let this audience in on a little secret before the game begins tonight. I am going to predict the score of tonight’s game.”

The host expressed an emoji of surprise, which then blinked to a neutral expression, “Naturally, you predict your team to win. I think we all would find that a safe bet!”

“I am going to be more specific than that. I will predict the exact score and the top five players, along with their individual scores.”

Hamilton leveled his gaze at the audience for a moment, contemplating if he really wanted to elaborate further. Hamilton held his hands up with a broad smile, clearly anticipating applause and cheers. Instead, he was met with nearly complete, confused silence.

Hamilton’s smile continued to beam, “Yes! The outcome will be 1350 to 1175, with my personal point total being 37. A player by the name of StriderCast will hold the top count with 47 points, however. He will be on the losing team. The top 3 players on the winning team will be a player by the name of Servitude with 41 points, BlankSlate77 with 40 points, and Getafixx with 40 points as well.”

“Well, this is certainly unexpected! Do you mean to say that you’ve used some sort of algorithm or pattern to predict the scores? Considering that players are randomly selected from the ready pool, it seems highly unlikely you would be able to predict the actual gamers who join?”

Laughter boomed from Hamilton’s avatar, “Wouldn’t you like to know! But no, that’s not possible. The process of the selection of players has always been sufficiently random, and pattern analysis would never produce a one hundred percent accurate result. Oh no, this is something quite revolutionary.”

The host continued in some perplexity, “Please do elaborate.”

The laughter continued from Dr. Bosch, “Well. Let’s see if I am right first! But, I feel confident that I will be.”

Hamilton’s chuckle subsided, and his tone became more serious, “Tonight, I demonstrate just a tiny fraction of the results of a side project I have been working on for several years. We have developed a technology that allows for information to be transmitted from the future. While predicting a game score is a bit of fun, the matter is quite serious. So serious that this secondary project has now become the dominant focus of my attention.”

The virtual audience sat in complete silence.

Hamilton eyed the crowd letting it sink in before he continued. “While the technology produces seemingly mundane details such as the outcome of tonight’s game, the true ramifications are profound. I will be publishing a detailed paper that will detail the nature of the experiment, including open access to all the data we are working with and a complete description of all the hardware and infrastructure needed to run it. I will be actively supporting any independent groups who wish to attempt to reproduce our results, although I will preface, the setup requirements are daunting. I believe the impact of this discovery affects everyone. It is my hope that the outcome of tonight’s game will help establish the reality of this discovery so that we may be prepared to address what it implies.”

The host was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before he addressed the subdued audience. “Certainly never a dull moment when you join us, Dr. Bosch. Just how much information do you have from the future as a result of this experiment?”

Hamilton looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not very much yet. The technology is quite limited in terms of what could be likened to data bandwidth. However, it is enough to prove the system works as the results are irrefutable. You must understand that the information is simply data that I selected to send to myself as a part of this experiment. The score of tonight’s game is just one example. A more detailed analysis is ongoing as my team and I continue to decode the results. However, the great expense that myself and the project investors have undertaken was not because we wanted to know what will happen in the future. We want to see if it is possible to change the future. To ensure an objective result, I have opted to encode relatively benign data into the system, and I am also, so far, the only one who has had access to the encoder. It is the only way I can be sure I would not be receiving purposefully incorrect or altered information from the future to test this hypothesis.”

“Very interesting. How far from the future have you been able to transmit data back to yourself?” The host was clearly fascinated and no longer obsessed with hosting the upcoming game.

“Of course, we are still working on our analysis; however, it appears that we have information that is date-stamped to approximately eighteen years from now. The first data objects we set about decoding were from the beginning and the end of the dataset. Oddly, there is no clear event or any indication as to why the dataset ends where it does. It appears the system operated for a very precise length of time and then simply stopped transmitting.”

“That does seem perplexing. How long have you been working with this data?”

“We began the decoding and analysis process six weeks ago, and we have decoded approximately ten percent so far. Some of the earliest encoded data objects detailed events that have already come to pass over the past few weeks. The accuracy of those samples was sufficient that I felt confident to go public with our results so far. My announcement to all of you tonight marks the decision to open up the experiment to the scientific community for peer review. While I admit using this platform to make this announcement is unorthodox, everyone knows I have been an avid player for years, your very large viewership is also desirable. Not to mention, I have never been averse to a bit of drama!”

The audience murmured a quiet bit of applause, as the host continued. “Was the drone attack today detailed as an event in your data?”

Dr. Bosch’s expression turned sour, “Yes. Yes, it was.”

Shocked silence in the audience, as the host became upset. “You did nothing to warn anyone, or attempt to stop it? Dr. Bosch, you agree that you have a lot of influence with people who are involved with these security actions; surely you could have done something!”

Hamilton just shook his head slowly, his expression sad.

“I will close this discussion before our game begins, with a question that everyone should be prepared to ask themselves. What good would technology that transmits information from the future be, if the information was just something that only might happen? It would essentially just be a very elaborate alternative to predictive algorithmic modeling. No, in fact, if we consider the data to be trustworthy, the data simply must reflect the result of whatever action I may or may not have taken to intervene. In light of the results of the experiment thus far, I must accept that there is no way to alter the outcome of any given event. While the data around the drone attack was very limited, it contained enough very specific detail to rule out any probability of chance. I will be the first to say, I find the implications of this disturbing beyond measure. I had hoped that the hypothesis of a determinate future was incorrect; that all data we would get from the system would be mutable and at best be the equivalent to carefully calculated probability. This has not been the case so far. At this point in the project, we all must now simply be observers of the data, the full set of which I do intend to make public once we have fully completed our analysis. At that time, I may be better prepared to comment on what it means for all of us.”

The hushed audience and the subdued host closed the pre-game show with quiet applause. The host continued somberly. “Thank you Dr. Bosch for your support of our show, and I for one, am a bigger fan of your work now more than ever. With that, let’s close, and move on to tonight’s game.”

Dr. Hamilton Bosch just nodded and added, “All seems a bit less exciting now that we know who wins, doesn’t it? Please do check the odds on your favorite betting platform.” He added with a wink, “I have a feeling the odds have changed.”