Bumpnumbers
This commit is contained in:
Madison Scott-Clary
@ -1,155 +1,169 @@
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# True Name --- 2124
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# Yared Zerezghi --- 2124
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The next meeting spot for the Council of Eight was in a rooftop bar. However, given that that rooftop bar was in the midst of a block of apartment buildings and vertical malls that had built with shared walls, such that there was a cubic half-mile of stair-climbing, elevator rides --- down as well as up --- and trestles that bridged buildings of lower height than higher ones, it was more adventure getting to the venue than the meeting itself promised.
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> The discussion of speciation continues, I see.
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>
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> And you know what? You all begin to convince me of this fact. If you have been following the System feeds, you will have doubtless seen the ways in which the System differs from life phys-side in levels so completely fundamental that they strain the imagination. We (by virtue of the fact that you are even reading this) have all used the 'net. To greater or lesser extents, we have all felt the ways in which it is different than 'real life'. I myself have often found the ways in which tactility differs here from out in the world: there is touch, yes, and there is something akin to the sensation of hot and cold (thermoception, the dictionary tells me), and it obviously could not function without a fairly accurate simulacrum of proprioception. If you don't know where you end and the rest of the sim begins, it is nigh useless as a shared space.
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>
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> But touch? Touch is subtly different in so many ways. I remarked on this to a friend who is far, far more into the tech side than I am, and he immediately mentioned that he had felt similar. The reason, he explained, is that no matter how hard the implants try, they can only approximate the sensation of touch. Hearing? Fine. We have decoded the phenomenon of sound well enough that we are able to toss that sense in there just fine. Smell? Well, that's a bit more difficult, as I've read that there is some funny quantum aspects to that sensation. In the end, however, it is just a matter of simulating chemical interactions well enough.
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>
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> Touch is so inexact, though. For each person it is different, and for each location on the body, the reaction is different. If you touch me on the shoulder, I might turn around to look at you. If you stick your finger in my ear (please don't) I will likely react much more violently. However, if *I* stick my finger in my ear, it elicits no such reaction, and can even feel pleasant.
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>
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> Those in the System talk of such varied experiences, but when I brought this up over the chat-line with some friends that I've made over there (I've been asked to withhold their names), they seemed more confused than anything, and had me try in several ways to describe this difference in touch, the way I sometimes fail to sense a touch, or the way I sometimes feel a strong, sudden pressure (for who has not accidentally stubbed a toe?) with about the same level of intensity of brushing my fingers over a surface.
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>
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> They said that there is no such issue within there. The dreaming brain is far more capable of coming up with the sensation of touch than the limited version we find in our implants.
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>
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> An example: One of these friends is a furry, which means that her form (what we might think of as an avatar) comes with all the accoutrements that that entails. She has fur, whiskers, and a tail. Those may come with some expanded sensations via implants, but in there, in the dream, her body knows how they work. She can wag her tail (if that's a thing that her species does, I don't know the specifics), can feel the ways in which the teeth of a comb move through her fur, can lick her chops, and has even told me that she enjoys having her ears petted. None of these, she told me, were things that she found possible via the 'net.
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>
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> This is a complete and total fundamental difference between us phys-side and those who live sys-side.
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>
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> And what a small one, too! Consider the larger ones:
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>
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> * *Forking:* Those who upload can create copies of themselves. Complete and total copies that live and experience completely separate lives. Not only that, but when a fork wants (*if* a fork wants!) it can merge back with the original copy or persona or whatever you want to call it, and then that persona has the memories of *both* copies. This beggars the imagination: we simply have no way to *actually* understand this, bound as we are by those pesky laws of physics.
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> * *Reputation markets:* Well, I say we're bound by the laws of physics, but on a subtler level, they are as well. The System only has so much capacity (though it is growing every few months), so in order to limit this potentially boundless expansion, there needs to be some factor which places limits on them, whether it's strictly for keeping bad actors at bay or simply to conserve space for new arrivals.
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>
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> But of what use is money to them? They don't *need* to eat. They don't *need* to pay for travel. There is nothing for them to buy except this capacity to create, which means there is no money changing hands. Instead, they have decided on a currency of reputation. The more you do and interact and contribute, whether it is from being on the Council of Eight or simply having a really good conversation with a friend, you accrue reputation, and it is through this mechanism that one pays for expansion. Create more? Interact more? Gain the *ability* to create more, the *ability* to interact more.
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> * *Creative potential:* This is what happens when you combine the first point with the second. Say you are a mathematician. It can be frustrating to work on a complex problem one step at a time, and managing a team comes with its own problems. What if you had more brain power to throw at the problem, and that brain power had *exactly the same knowledge* going into it? Obviously, there are plenty more situations that require collaboration with other unique individuals, but this alone makes it worthwhile. Already, there have been great contributions to the fields of math, theoretical physics, literature, and sociology/psychology. Hell, some of these are already being used to earn money which is being put to use in the day-to-day demands of the System. For them, though, this is the basis of an economy that cherishes such pursuits. Already, we are seeing more individuals in those fields uploading than any other.
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>
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> When I think about all of these facts, I have to admit, I think that you may be right on the question of speciation. It is not just that we cannot interbreed with them, for that is a question of biology, and one party lacks that aspect. It is not just that they are not of human stock, for that is demonstrably not the case. But it does come down to a complete and fundamental change in the very fabric of being.
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>
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> The term "post-human" has been thrown around plenty, of course. It mostly fits, too, but I would argue that it also implies some remnant of humanity other than those within the System have (the creation of new, unique post-humans springs to mind). They are something *more*. They are something *different*. They are exohumans, perhaps. Post-biological. The language fails.
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>
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> They are uploads, and we are not.
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>
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> I stand by my firm argument against so many tired and played ones that I have seen. They are beings. A new species, perhaps, but we afford rights to *beings*. We afford rights to *individuals*. That they can fork presents new problems, but what has ever stood between humanity and a solution but staunch conservatism?
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>
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> Vote for the granting of rights. Vote yes on *referendum 10b30188*
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>
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> Yared Zerezghi (NEAC)
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Still, The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream climbed.
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As soon as he received confirmation that his post was visible on the DDR forums, Yared backed out from his rig and headed for the door, stretching a crick out of his spine as he went.
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The apartment buildings ranged from serviceable to gutted, and more than one time, she had to step carefully through a path covered in rubble. She could not decipher whether this was due to abandoned renovations, some unknown battle, or the simple degradations of time.
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This had become routine. The action of posting a particularly frustrating essay to the forums had often been followed by going out for coffee, but now, as soon as he posted, he knew that Councilor Demma would arrive for a debriefing. This had turned into coffee together every two days. Yared would always go to the shop at the end of his street and wait for Demma's tireless driver to show up, buy three coffees and three pieces of himbasha, and lead him to the car. Sometimes, they drove out past the edge of the city to the fields of low-moisture corn and beans. Sometimes, they drove into the city center by Government House and circled the perimeter.
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The malls offered different dichotomies. Some of them were sparkling new with speakers that whispered to her in Mandarin and lights that shouted in her face, while others played placid muzak through halls lit only by emergency lights, darkened storefronts yawning onto scuffed and over-waxed parquet floors.
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Or, as today, they simply sat in Demma's car, sipping on coffees and nibbling sweet bread while they talked.
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She wondered who it was that had owned this sim, what collective it was that had decided to mash all the best and worst multiple clashing centuries worth of Kowloon Walled City and the North American Central Corridor.
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"Mr. Zerezghi," the well-dressed driver said, enough acknowledgement for the day.
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And then, the rooftop bar. Despite no vehicle entrance to the complex, this was situated on the top level of what appeared to be a car park straight out of a mid-western American airport, complete with one or two of those vehicles that seemed perpetually parked, ones that had lingered for months or years, accruing a parking debt of thousands, tens of thousands of dollars.
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The owner of the coffee shop had already made their order as soon as Yared showed his face, so they collected their tray of drinks and food and walked through the late morning heat to the black car that stood idly by.
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The bar itself was a pop-up affair, with walls and ceiling of corrugated plastic held together with rivets and tape, a bar-top that was a few two-by-eights set across a trestle, fronted with further corrugated plastic to keep the patrons from kicking fridges or sinks out of alignment.
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As always, it took Yared a moment to acclimatize to the blast of conditioned air that greeted him when he slipped into the car, so Yosef Demma sipped his coffee and waited until Yared could speak once more.
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The drinks: early 2100s hipster bullshit, all intensely sweet or riddled with smoke-scented fizzy water or long strips of seaweed or clams within the ice cubes, steadily making the drink more and more savory over time.
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"Mr. Zerezghi, a pleasure to see you as always. How are you? Have you had a good day?"
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"Yes, Councilor," Yared said, sipping at his coffee to stave off the chill of the air. "I trust that you have as well?"
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"Quite good, quite good."
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The formalities, those were also rote by now.
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"We have read your post. It is quite the well written essay."
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Yared nodded. "Thank you, sir."
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The councilor leaned back against his seat, switching his coffee for a slice of the himbasha. "You know, originally, my constituents and I were nervous about the idea of letting you craft your own posts. Many thought it unwise to let you choose your own words, thinking it best that we write your arguments for you and have you simply post them. I disagreed, as I think that something of your style would be lost in the process. You rely on a lot of imagery and word choices that are good at swaying readers, and I think this isn't necessarily a thing that my speech writers would be able to accomplish. You have recently changed their minds."
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"I'm happy to hear that. I like to think I'm a good writer."
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"You are, you are," Demma nodded. "But it is always good to see that working to your advantage. To our advantage."
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Yared suppressed a smile.
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"We are also pleased to see the way in which you incorporated our suggestion."
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"I'm glad to hear. I was worried, I'll admit. It's not that I don't agree with the speciation argument, I just had originally worried that it was distracting from the topic at hand."
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"Of course, Yared. You have your own reasons to argue for individual rights, and we do want to respect those. You must understand, however, that we have the benefit of a team of analysts on our side, and they have determined that, from the Direct Democracy angle, this is the most efficient way forward specifically for the secession movement."
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Leaning back into his seat and holding his empty coffee cup in his hands to leach the last bits of warmth from it, Yared sighed. "Of course. And as I mentioned, I'm not necessarily against the arguments you suggested."
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The note had come late the night before, delivered via courier, along with an apology that he had been given so little time to work it into his next post. *Begin to agree with speciation,* it had read, and a tang of distaste tickled at his senses. *Not quickly, just hint that you're being swayed. Say you're starting to be convinced, but that this only strengthens your arguments.*
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Demma reached out a hand for Yared's cup, as he always did, and crumpled it together with his to dispose of in a waste basket hidden in the back of one of the seats of the car. "Mr. Zerezghi," he said, bowing slightly in his seat. "Thank you once more. I won't take up any more of your time. You should have your next suggestion in the next day or two."
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Yared returned the bow and, as if that were the command he was waiting for, the driver opened the door to let him out into the growing heat of the day. He swayed once more at the shock of the temperature difference.
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"Yared," the driver said, nodding, then slid back into the driver's seat of the car.
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Once he could walk again without stumbling, he made his way back to his room and out of the sun. It was air conditioned, yes, but the unit in the wall had seen better days. *Much* better days.
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A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over him, but all the same, he settled back into the chair before his rig and delved in once more.
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A message was already waiting for him at his desk, so, in the sim, he sat down before it, smiling inwardly at the oddly duplicated action.
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> **Jonas Prime:** Yared! Beautifully done. Ping when you're back around.
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He swiped a keyboard into view and instructed his desk to do just that.
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> **Jonas:** Welcome back. How goes?
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>
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> **Yared Zerezghi:** Well enough. Hot as ever. Thanks, by the way. Think the post will help?
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Inwardly, he fretted, worrying that his counterparts in the System had picked up on the slow change in direction over the last few posts.
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> **The Only Time I Know My True Name Is When I Dream:** Probably! I am pleased that you enjoyed my description of brushing and petting.
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>
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> **Yared:** I felt it got the point across quite nicely.
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>
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> **True Name**: That it did.
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>
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> **Jonas:** We've been tracking the speciation argument, as far as we can see, and it's an interesting idea. I go back and forth on it. Sometimes, it feels like a distinction without a difference, and sometimes, phys-side ideas just leave me completely baffled. I've forgotten how strange the System sounded when I was outside of it.
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>
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> **True Name:** Yes. It is a good talking point, but also a line that you should walk carefully. I worry that it will lead the discussion back to the "sub-human" arguments that pop up here and there.
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His heart dropped. So they had picked up on the change.
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> **Yared:** I'm worried about that as well. Still, when I've argued on the forums in the past, I've found that building a strong argument and then slipping a little bit of empathy for the other side nudges them to do the same.
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True Name found it all confusing and jarring.
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A lie, but hopefully a helpful one.
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She liked it immediately.
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Debarre was already at one of the tables --- similarly cobbled together --- sipping something that seemed to be all foam. He waved to her as she entered, and she waved back, heading to the bar to pick up one of those seaweed concoctions before joining him.
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"That looks fucking gross, Sasha."
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She laughed and shrugged. "I am True Name, but yes, it really does. If we are going to meet in a place that gives me a headache to walk through, it is probably best that I get something with...protein? Is that how this works?"
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"Uh, sorry. Yeah. True Name." The weasel splayed his ears and averted his eyes. "Can we talk about that sometime?"
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"Yes, but probably as Michelle, if that is okay."
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"Why?"
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"She is...closer to it than I am."
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Debarre gripped his glass more tightly and twisted sideways to swing his leg over the bench and straddle it. "Yeah, I don't get it. Before everyone else gets here, can you at least give me a sentence or two?"
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"When she forked, when I...became me, she decided not to fork that part of her that suffers if that is the right word." True Name frowned. "Already we are drifting further apart. The species remains, the appearance and the speech patterns remain, the *mind* remains, but not that part of her that is so split. I am me, I am templated off of Sasha, because being both Michelle and Sasha at the same time was no longer tolerable."
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He shrugged, still staring down into his drink. "I can't speak to that, I guess. But why Aw--"
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True Name slammed her glass down on the table a bit harder than intended, some of the drink spilling over her hand. "Do not say that fucking name."
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The weasel jumped at the sudden intensity, and when he recovered, he finally met her gaze. His expression softened from fear and anger to a tired bleakness. That moment drew out for a long few seconds of quiet and seething sadness. He reached for a napkin from the dispenser at the end of the table and handed it to her. "Here."
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She hesitated, mastered a surge of unnamed emotion, and accepted the napkin to wipe the sticky drink from her paw and then, on realizing that she was crying, the tears from her face. "Sorry, I am just..."
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"We'll talk." He reached over and gave her dry paw a squeeze in his own. "Michelle and I will. There's something I'm missing here is all, and I want to figure out why more than what."
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True Name hid her muzzle in her drink and pretended to take a sip until she was sure she wouldn't slur her words when she spoke. "Thank you. She is open to messages still, I will let you two work it out. For now, I need to focus on the meeting. Jonas and Zeke are here."
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Looking over his shoulder, Debarre nodded and turned to sit on the bench to face her again, leaving room for the other two. Jonas settled next to True Name so that they could give their speech together when the time came, and Zeke, that shifting bundle of rags and grime slid onto the bench beside Debarre.
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"Good afternoon," the almost-face within the bundle rasped.
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Jonas grinned. "It's morning, isn't it?"
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A pseudopod that may have been a hand waved the comment away. "Time has lost all meaning. I seem to have forgotten how to sleep, these days."
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"You need a vacation like Michelle."
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There was a low rattle from the rags, and True Name imagined that must be Zeke's laughter. "Don't tempt me. I don't have the funds to fork, so you'd be down to seven."
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"Why *did* you make it so expensive?" Jonas elbowed True Name in the side.
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She held up her paws defensively and laughed. "I did not. The price is tied to System capacity."
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"The laws of physics were a mistake and reputation is a lie."
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"It is the best limiting factor that we have that is not a complete fabrication, at the moment."
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"I rather miss coins."
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"My dad used to collect coins, you know."
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And so on, until the table was full and the cone of silence fell.
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"Sasha? Uh...True Name. Jonas?" one of the well-dressed triad asked.
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"Right," Jonas said, setting his drink down. "The bill. Things are progressing slowly, as they always do, but it sounds like they might start picking up steam shortly. Our main contact on the DDR side, one Yared Zerezghi based out of the Northeast African Coalition, says that some of the governments are starting to take interest in the bill, which could work to our advantage. Having it just be a direct vote would mean that we would have far, far more representatives to convince, since that'd mean essentially everyone on the DDR. The more governments in play, the more the role of the DDR shrinks."
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"How does that even begin to help? Aren't they super stodgy?" Debarre asked.
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"They can be," Jonas hedged. "But if we can form contacts with each of them, we can argue our case directly. Yared might be the one to give us a good in for the NEAC, and I still have some Western Fed contacts."
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"Anyone for the S-R Bloc or anywhere in SEAPAC? Middle east? India?"
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The trio of suits raised their hands. "S-R Bloc. We don't know any of the oligarchs directly, but we had some big money interests of our own."
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"Israel," Zeke said, then laughed at the awkward silence that followed. The trio frowned. "Sorry, nothing to be done there."
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"And SEAPAC?"
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user11824 shrugged. "I was a nobody, but I was a Maori nobody."
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"You had enough to upload. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
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He shrugged again.
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"We will take all the help we can get," True Name said. "Even from nobodies."
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"Alright, I'll poke mom."
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Zeke nodded to True Name. "What's your take on the situation?"
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She stirred her drink to buy herself some time to think. "I think it is leaning our way. One of the big arguments remains speciation, but Yared's turning that into a pro-rights argument instead of a neutral- or anti-rights one. His voice is getting louder, too. It sounds like he is getting a lot more upvotes on his posts than before."
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"That's good."
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True Name nodded. "I think so. He is not the biggest voice on the issue yet, but it sounds like he is probably in the top three."
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"You said he's NEAC, right?"
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"Yeah, Addis Ababa," Jonas said. "Not exactly the seat of power, but I guess not everything has to be Cairo. Sounds like we have a good mix, at least. No one from South America?"
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Everyone shook their heads.
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"I suppose that's alright. They're a big enough voice in Western Fed, but they're still in the shadow government side of things. They don't even have the shadow minister of System affairs."
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"Who does?"
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"Lithuania."
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One of the suits laughed, and Debarre looked blank.
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"Politics," Jonas said, grinning lopsidedly.
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"If you say so."
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After a moment's silence, Zeke rasped, "So what are our next steps?"
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"Let's all talk to our respective interests --- Zeke too --- and we'll meet again soon. True Name and I will keep working with Yared and guide as best we can from our side. Speaking of, though, any thoughts on the speciation topic?"
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Six sets of eyes flitted between Debarre and True Name, between weasel and skunk, then the whole council laughed.
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"I don't give a shit," user11824 said. "But if your Yared guy can twist that argument against the opposition, then that's just one more tool, isn't it?"
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"We aren't seeing that," the man in the suit spoke up. "Two thirds of our power structure still think child restrictions are a good enough idea that those laws have bled into Russia. I'm pretty sure they see speciation as a positive. What better way to help in population control?"
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One of his companions shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised if they started putting limitations on uploading by gender, but that is a separate topic."
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"Zeke?"
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The pile of rags shifted in a shrug.
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"Debarre? True Name? Anything you can leverage?"
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The weasel laughed. "I mean, if you want to point to us as an example to push that along, and Yared's tack seems to be working, go for it."
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"Alright. It's something you can suggest to your respective interests if you think it'll help. We'll reevaluate next meeting. Anything else on the agenda?"
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Everyone shook their heads, then lifted their glasses to a toast. The cone of silence dropped.
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"Well, then, you are all free to stick around or go if you want," True Name said. "I am going to stay and get well and truly plastered."
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> **True Name:** I had not thought of that, but I was never big into the DDR. Calling it both "Direct Democracy" and a "Representative" made it sound disingenuous.
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>
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> **Jonas:** I mean, it makes sense. If they start feeling our empathy in the equation, maybe they'll start feeling empathy towards us.
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>
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> **Yared:** That's the hope! Some of these people though...
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>
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> **Jonas:** Numbskulls.
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>
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> **True Name:** Dipshits.
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>
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> **Yared:** Both accurate.
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>
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> **True Name:** Just do not generate too much empathy in them. I do not want them latching onto anything to use against you.
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>
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> **True Name:** Against us, in the end.
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>
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> **Yared:** Of course! I'll keep monitoring the forums and chatter, and it looks like some governments are waking up to it.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** Whoopee.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Jonas:** I'll have you know that she just rolled her eyes at me.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** Jerk.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Yared:** Haha. Still, I think it'll help. It means that this is is going to be taken into consideration and not just turn into a DDR-only referendum. If we get them discussing it, then we have a smaller target to influence. DDR votes carry less weight when gov'ts weigh in. They read the forums as much as any DDR junkie, so the arguments can sometimes carry more weight.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** As much as it pains me to admit, you have a point.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Jonas:** When you get a chance, you and I can go into it more in depth, Yared.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Yared:** Have some thoughts?
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Jonas:** I was a politician phys-side, so, yeah.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** WHAT
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** You are kidding.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Jonas:** I'll have you know that she just punched me in the shoulder.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** And I will do it again. Fucking gross.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **Jonas:** I'll have you know that she did, indeed, do it again.
|
||||
|
||||
Yared laughed. He was pleased to see them in good spirits.
|
||||
|
||||
> **Yared:** Don't beat him up too bad, True Name. He probably does have some good info, even if it is a few years old.
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** ...
|
||||
>
|
||||
> **True Name:** I GUESS
|
||||
|
||||
Reference in New Issue
Block a user