In November of 2003 I participated in NaNoWriMo. The challenge is to write a novel of at least 50,000 words in thirty days. I actually managed to finish and get the certificate. I then set about re-writing my novel. Then I re-wrote one more time. Until I felt it was at least readable. Then I shared it with a very few people. It still needed work. They offered suggestions. But I was loathe to dive in yet again without a clear purpose. Well, last week I decided.
I am going to post my novel here in my diary. One chapter a week. It is a story after all. And the purpose of a story is to be TOLD, not to languish in a binder on a dusty bookshelf.
On a technical note: It is tricky getting text to copy from one application to another. I am still working out the best way to transfer my files in a way that they don't drop all the punctuation. And sometimes the spaces between words gets lost. So kindly ignore these irritations if you see them. I will figure it out eventually.
It's a little scary to do this, I must admit. On some levels, my "knees are smiting one another", to quote a King James phrase. But I am not without SOME modicum of courage, so I am plucking up what intestinal fortitude I possess and hereby begin my tale....
The working title is:
From the depths of the surging pathways, an impulse awakens. A line forms a separation. A bud begins to form. Into this vessel flows all the genius, all the beauty, all the joy of a thousand years of growth.
Layer upon layer, gift upon gift, the nascent kernel receives its knowledge. In the warmth and darkness, mysteries are concealed, and the longing to be revealed is born. The desire to give overcomes the desire for safety. And the seed grows.
Abe pulled absentmindedly on the microfibers dangling from the neural implant on his inner forearm while he looked over the disclaimer papers one more time before signing them. As far as he could tell if something went wrong, nobody was going to take responsibility for it. Typical legal crap. Some things never seem to change, including the need for his signature on a hard copy.
But then who could really know what might happen on the first manned extra solar system mission? Even in his wildest dreams as a kid, he never thought space travel would have moved so fast. Nor would he, the neighborhood nerd, ever have imagined that he would be that first man.
He signed the papers and handed them over to the clerk droid who thanked him in an eerily natural sounding voice. The metal box on wheels whirred away down the hall and he was left waiting for the next formality. If there wereany left. His head was reeling from a day packed with activity.
The launch was 36 hours away and the last 20 of that he would spend in the hibernation chamber, slowly making his way into the oblivion necessary for his long journey.
He lay back in the hospital bed and grabbed the interface cord and snapped himself into the grid. Instantly he felt the surge of adrenaline and the heightened awareness that went with it. The grid kept him abreast of all the preparations for lift off.
After his years of training, he had mastered the skills necessary to process the volumes of information that the computers fed into his brain. He could tell you the temperature of the #4 thruster housing and the oxygen levels in the holding tanks plus the entire contents of the ship's galley inventory. It was great. He could make queries, although he still had to verbalize these, or type them into the small keypad, as no one had yet perfected a thought interface. But people were working on it.
He could use the wall screen to look at data or when he was out and about, there was a small flip up high resolution screen on his companel that worked well, though his preference was the little transparent heads-up display that he wore on a lightweight headband. Only thing was, the technicians were doing some last minute upgrades to it and he wouldn't have it back till tomorrow morning.
The neural interface was connected to a small unit that he wore on his waist. It received information wireless from the computer network, and it also contained the delivery system for the chemical stimulants that allowed his brain to function on a higher level. It regulated the administration of the drugs that were stored in small vials in the companel. It had been his way of life for almost three years now.
After graduating with a Masters in Computer Science, he had landed one of the most sought after jobs in his field. A place on the team at the TransHuman Research Project. It was the culmination of the efforts of hundreds of scientists working diligently for decades. It was also work that had been hindered every step of the way by naysayers.
Religious nuts, ethics committees, and grass roots groups that would spring up and eventually fade way, had all taken shots at the program over the years. The questions about the stimulant drugs were the most persistent. But the team had persevered. When public support failed, the Project turned to private funding and at the same time eliminated a lot of hand wringing among the irrational fear mongers. They now had the backing of some very dedicated futurists who also happened to be fabulously wealthy
However there was still a small, determined group of people who remained entrenched in the battle against their efforts, including old Marshall Davis who had shown up at the press conference last week.
Abe had finished his portion of the presentation, then the project board had fielded many standard questions about the mission: How long will you be gone? How much is this costing? What about the early problems with the hibernation process, etc. When finally, Reese Gordon, the director of the project called on Marshall.
"Well, lets get this out of the way. Marshall, what objections do you have today?"
There was a small wave of laughter and general shaking of heads as people busied themselves shuffling through their notes, hoping this would be short. The guy was embarrassing.
He stood up. He was a tall lanky man wearing blue jeans and a brown corduroy jacket with a blue plaid shirt. His white hair, though combed neatly, was unfashionably long. He moved slowly and spoke in gentle tones, at odds with the intense and fidgety reporters who regularly covered the high tech field.
"I find myself in a conflicted state of mind today." Marshall began, causing more than a few heads to turn. The paper shuffling stopped.
"I am excited that we are going to begin the real exploration of space beyond our solar system. For eons man has looked to the stars and wondered what was out there. And I want to make it clear that I applaud what you are attempting to do. Curiosity is one of our greatest qualities, and I appreciate the hard work you have put into this endeavor. Butat the same time, I am worried we are losing touch with what makes us unique in our corner of the universe. The very qualities that make us human are being eroded by the intrusion of nanotechnology and TransHuman enhancement. Who will Mr. Talbot be representing if he encounters other life forms? A human being or a TransHuman being?"
Reese looked down at the pile of papers in front of him with a barely concealed condescending smirk on his face.
"I would say that he is a human who is following a logical evolutionary progression from ape to a fully realized being. Capable of a greater mental capacity than we have yet seen. How long have you heard that humans only use a small percentage of their mental abilities? We are learning to push the boundaries, tofind out just how much of the mind can be utilized. Abe can process more information in an hour than an average person can in a week. And if that is accomplished using technology, what of it? It is no different than a man picking up a sharpened stick to throw at an animal he wants to eat, rather than following it around until it dies of old age."
The last comment elicited a few laughs from the reporters. This did not deter Marshall.
"But you must admit that the ability to process information is not the same thing as knowledge. Its not the same as truly understanding something. Its fast I grant you, and impressive, in its own way, but is it knowledge? When and if we encounter other forms of life, do we want to impress them with our technology or with what I think are the more important qualities of humanity? Things like compassion, love, the search for enlightenment, the conquering of our baser nature, the ability to write poetry, create works of art, and grapple with the great questions of life. All of which take time. These are things that do not lend themselves to speed, but deliberation and depth of inquiry. We humans are much more than our technology."
"Listen Marshall, these are philosophical questions that are not appropriate to this setting. We don't have time to debate this with you." Reese said placing his mechanical pencil here and there on the table in front of him, not meeting Marshalls gaze.
"That is where you are wrong, Reese. And that is how we keep going down this road. There is never an appropriate setting for this conversation with you people. You are comfortable only if an ethics panel meets in some obscure location and puts out a paper that everyone can ignore. And this is not the only technology that is questioned, as you well know. Genetic modification of foods, plants and animals all fall within the scope of these questions I ask. On each of these fronts the hard questions are barely even being considered any more. The technology barges forward despite the grave misgivings of many people, and in the face of ecological warning signs all the time. Just because we can do a thing with technology, does not mean we should do it."
The last sentence, Marshall uttered with a pleading note in his voice as he felt the atmosphere inthe room grow colder. It was an old, old argument that he had been making for years and they were tired of hearing it. And at this moment, he was weary of having the issue misunderstood. His own words sounded hollow even to him. He stood looking at this room full of men and women wondering if they really weremembers of the same species. How could they not see what he was seeing?
Reese cleared his throat. "Okay, anyone else want to discuss philosophy?"
Silence hung in the room. No one dared to breathe. Everyone wanted the moment to pass.
"Good. Next question." Reese said, in the universal tone of a bureaucrat who had already made up his mind what he was going to do, but had to put up with the inconvenience of the required public meetings before he could get back to work.
Someone stood up and asked a technical question about the communication systems on the ship, to the relief of everyone. Except Marshall, who quietly gathered his notebooks and left the room.
Abe shook his head remembering the press conference. He wished Marshall and all those like him would just step aside and let them get on with their work. It was a big waste of time listening to them prose on about stuff they didn't understand. It was the bane of the Institute that they had to field questions from the uneducated and misinformed masses. It was small comfort to know that many new inventions had been met with derision throughout history. He couldnt figure out why everyone thought it was such a big deal. He had grown up with the idea that if it was new, it was good. And usually he was right. People were better off because of technology werent they? Why fight the inevitable? Besides, Marshall and his ilk had no idea what it was like to step into the stream of information as he did. Feeling the power of thinking at an accelerated pace. Taking in volumes of data and sorting it quickly, analyzing it and taking action, was a state of mind he would not easily part with just because a few whackos were stuck in the past struggling with theirhuman identity crisis. Space exploration would require extraordinary awareness, and if that had to come about through the use of a few chemicals and some hardware, then so be it.
Suddenly he felt tired. The doctors had told him to get some rest. He supposed he would try to comply. He satisfied his curiosity about a few more details on the readiness of the ship and the hibernation chamber, and reluctantly turned off his receiver and unsnapped the cord.
The sun had gone down hours ago. When he turned the lights out, all he could see was the green power light on his companel. No one was going to deprive him of this opportunity. He would keep this piece of technology by god no matter how many Marshalls whined. This was the future of mankind. And he wanted to be part of that future.
I am going to post my novel here in my diary. One chapter a week. It is a story after all. And the purpose of a story is to be TOLD, not to languish in a binder on a dusty bookshelf.
On a technical note: It is tricky getting text to copy from one application to another. I am still working out the best way to transfer my files in a way that they don't drop all the punctuation. And sometimes the spaces between words gets lost. So kindly ignore these irritations if you see them. I will figure it out eventually.
It's a little scary to do this, I must admit. On some levels, my "knees are smiting one another", to quote a King James phrase. But I am not without SOME modicum of courage, so I am plucking up what intestinal fortitude I possess and hereby begin my tale....
The working title is:
The Seed
Chapter One
From the depths of the surging pathways, an impulse awakens. A line forms a separation. A bud begins to form. Into this vessel flows all the genius, all the beauty, all the joy of a thousand years of growth.
Layer upon layer, gift upon gift, the nascent kernel receives its knowledge. In the warmth and darkness, mysteries are concealed, and the longing to be revealed is born. The desire to give overcomes the desire for safety. And the seed grows.
***
Abe pulled absentmindedly on the microfibers dangling from the neural implant on his inner forearm while he looked over the disclaimer papers one more time before signing them. As far as he could tell if something went wrong, nobody was going to take responsibility for it. Typical legal crap. Some things never seem to change, including the need for his signature on a hard copy.
But then who could really know what might happen on the first manned extra solar system mission? Even in his wildest dreams as a kid, he never thought space travel would have moved so fast. Nor would he, the neighborhood nerd, ever have imagined that he would be that first man.
He signed the papers and handed them over to the clerk droid who thanked him in an eerily natural sounding voice. The metal box on wheels whirred away down the hall and he was left waiting for the next formality. If there wereany left. His head was reeling from a day packed with activity.
The launch was 36 hours away and the last 20 of that he would spend in the hibernation chamber, slowly making his way into the oblivion necessary for his long journey.
He lay back in the hospital bed and grabbed the interface cord and snapped himself into the grid. Instantly he felt the surge of adrenaline and the heightened awareness that went with it. The grid kept him abreast of all the preparations for lift off.
After his years of training, he had mastered the skills necessary to process the volumes of information that the computers fed into his brain. He could tell you the temperature of the #4 thruster housing and the oxygen levels in the holding tanks plus the entire contents of the ship's galley inventory. It was great. He could make queries, although he still had to verbalize these, or type them into the small keypad, as no one had yet perfected a thought interface. But people were working on it.
He could use the wall screen to look at data or when he was out and about, there was a small flip up high resolution screen on his companel that worked well, though his preference was the little transparent heads-up display that he wore on a lightweight headband. Only thing was, the technicians were doing some last minute upgrades to it and he wouldn't have it back till tomorrow morning.
The neural interface was connected to a small unit that he wore on his waist. It received information wireless from the computer network, and it also contained the delivery system for the chemical stimulants that allowed his brain to function on a higher level. It regulated the administration of the drugs that were stored in small vials in the companel. It had been his way of life for almost three years now.
After graduating with a Masters in Computer Science, he had landed one of the most sought after jobs in his field. A place on the team at the TransHuman Research Project. It was the culmination of the efforts of hundreds of scientists working diligently for decades. It was also work that had been hindered every step of the way by naysayers.
Religious nuts, ethics committees, and grass roots groups that would spring up and eventually fade way, had all taken shots at the program over the years. The questions about the stimulant drugs were the most persistent. But the team had persevered. When public support failed, the Project turned to private funding and at the same time eliminated a lot of hand wringing among the irrational fear mongers. They now had the backing of some very dedicated futurists who also happened to be fabulously wealthy
However there was still a small, determined group of people who remained entrenched in the battle against their efforts, including old Marshall Davis who had shown up at the press conference last week.
Abe had finished his portion of the presentation, then the project board had fielded many standard questions about the mission: How long will you be gone? How much is this costing? What about the early problems with the hibernation process, etc. When finally, Reese Gordon, the director of the project called on Marshall.
"Well, lets get this out of the way. Marshall, what objections do you have today?"
There was a small wave of laughter and general shaking of heads as people busied themselves shuffling through their notes, hoping this would be short. The guy was embarrassing.
He stood up. He was a tall lanky man wearing blue jeans and a brown corduroy jacket with a blue plaid shirt. His white hair, though combed neatly, was unfashionably long. He moved slowly and spoke in gentle tones, at odds with the intense and fidgety reporters who regularly covered the high tech field.
"I find myself in a conflicted state of mind today." Marshall began, causing more than a few heads to turn. The paper shuffling stopped.
"I am excited that we are going to begin the real exploration of space beyond our solar system. For eons man has looked to the stars and wondered what was out there. And I want to make it clear that I applaud what you are attempting to do. Curiosity is one of our greatest qualities, and I appreciate the hard work you have put into this endeavor. Butat the same time, I am worried we are losing touch with what makes us unique in our corner of the universe. The very qualities that make us human are being eroded by the intrusion of nanotechnology and TransHuman enhancement. Who will Mr. Talbot be representing if he encounters other life forms? A human being or a TransHuman being?"
Reese looked down at the pile of papers in front of him with a barely concealed condescending smirk on his face.
"I would say that he is a human who is following a logical evolutionary progression from ape to a fully realized being. Capable of a greater mental capacity than we have yet seen. How long have you heard that humans only use a small percentage of their mental abilities? We are learning to push the boundaries, tofind out just how much of the mind can be utilized. Abe can process more information in an hour than an average person can in a week. And if that is accomplished using technology, what of it? It is no different than a man picking up a sharpened stick to throw at an animal he wants to eat, rather than following it around until it dies of old age."
The last comment elicited a few laughs from the reporters. This did not deter Marshall.
"But you must admit that the ability to process information is not the same thing as knowledge. Its not the same as truly understanding something. Its fast I grant you, and impressive, in its own way, but is it knowledge? When and if we encounter other forms of life, do we want to impress them with our technology or with what I think are the more important qualities of humanity? Things like compassion, love, the search for enlightenment, the conquering of our baser nature, the ability to write poetry, create works of art, and grapple with the great questions of life. All of which take time. These are things that do not lend themselves to speed, but deliberation and depth of inquiry. We humans are much more than our technology."
"Listen Marshall, these are philosophical questions that are not appropriate to this setting. We don't have time to debate this with you." Reese said placing his mechanical pencil here and there on the table in front of him, not meeting Marshalls gaze.
"That is where you are wrong, Reese. And that is how we keep going down this road. There is never an appropriate setting for this conversation with you people. You are comfortable only if an ethics panel meets in some obscure location and puts out a paper that everyone can ignore. And this is not the only technology that is questioned, as you well know. Genetic modification of foods, plants and animals all fall within the scope of these questions I ask. On each of these fronts the hard questions are barely even being considered any more. The technology barges forward despite the grave misgivings of many people, and in the face of ecological warning signs all the time. Just because we can do a thing with technology, does not mean we should do it."
The last sentence, Marshall uttered with a pleading note in his voice as he felt the atmosphere inthe room grow colder. It was an old, old argument that he had been making for years and they were tired of hearing it. And at this moment, he was weary of having the issue misunderstood. His own words sounded hollow even to him. He stood looking at this room full of men and women wondering if they really weremembers of the same species. How could they not see what he was seeing?
Reese cleared his throat. "Okay, anyone else want to discuss philosophy?"
Silence hung in the room. No one dared to breathe. Everyone wanted the moment to pass.
"Good. Next question." Reese said, in the universal tone of a bureaucrat who had already made up his mind what he was going to do, but had to put up with the inconvenience of the required public meetings before he could get back to work.
Someone stood up and asked a technical question about the communication systems on the ship, to the relief of everyone. Except Marshall, who quietly gathered his notebooks and left the room.
Abe shook his head remembering the press conference. He wished Marshall and all those like him would just step aside and let them get on with their work. It was a big waste of time listening to them prose on about stuff they didn't understand. It was the bane of the Institute that they had to field questions from the uneducated and misinformed masses. It was small comfort to know that many new inventions had been met with derision throughout history. He couldnt figure out why everyone thought it was such a big deal. He had grown up with the idea that if it was new, it was good. And usually he was right. People were better off because of technology werent they? Why fight the inevitable? Besides, Marshall and his ilk had no idea what it was like to step into the stream of information as he did. Feeling the power of thinking at an accelerated pace. Taking in volumes of data and sorting it quickly, analyzing it and taking action, was a state of mind he would not easily part with just because a few whackos were stuck in the past struggling with theirhuman identity crisis. Space exploration would require extraordinary awareness, and if that had to come about through the use of a few chemicals and some hardware, then so be it.
Suddenly he felt tired. The doctors had told him to get some rest. He supposed he would try to comply. He satisfied his curiosity about a few more details on the readiness of the ship and the hibernation chamber, and reluctantly turned off his receiver and unsnapped the cord.
The sun had gone down hours ago. When he turned the lights out, all he could see was the green power light on his companel. No one was going to deprive him of this opportunity. He would keep this piece of technology by god no matter how many Marshalls whined. This was the future of mankind. And he wanted to be part of that future.