Complete Atopia Chronicles

“People directly stimulating their pleasure centers,” continued Bob heatedly, “ramping up their dopamine output. Forget about sex, just plug into my pleasure broadcast. Of course it’s addictive.”

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised at this sudden bout of prudishness,” I replied. “As far as I can remember, you were one of the ones who enjoyed all of this stuff the most.”

“I don’t care what people do. Be happy, do what you want.” He shrugged. “My problem is how you’re hiding how incredibly addictive it is.”

I shared his concern, but as chief scientist, it was my responsibility to defend what we were doing.

“Dr. Granger has found ways to short circuit the addition pathways.”

“Sure you have,” he replied sarcastically. “Using the problem to fix the problem, sounds perfect. And I’ll bet you’ll charge a nice fee for it too.”

This was exactly what I’d said when Kesselring and Hal had suggested it to me. I sighed.

“It does sound suspicious,” I agreed, “but we needed to get regulatory approval as quickly as possible. We couldn’t afford to let the process get stuck.”

He looked at me with mounting disgust.

“So it was all about getting to market faster?”

“In a way,” I admitted, nodding my head slowly. I was so tired.

“Encouraging people to have synthetic babies, living in fantasy worlds or reliving a past they can’t accept,” he continued furiously, gaining steam again. “If not that, then they’re emo-porn junkies, living life as parasitic reality vampires.”

I felt angry as well. While I’d set this whole thing in motion, once it was going I’d been forced to accept a lot of things I wasn’t comfortable with. The synthetic babies, proxxids, had been one of Hal’s ideas and central to the program for reducing birth rates. I’d never been comfortable with this and many other things. My own anger made me defensive.

“Fantasy worlds? Are they really, Bob?” I lashed out. “You have your own dimstim, and a very popular one, from what I’ve heard, and emo-porning is not something I condone. Anyway, since when have people wasting their lives on reality programming been an issue?”

“That’s not the point, Patricia,” he yelled back, “you’ve set all this up to turn the world into your junkie!”

We glared at each other.

“You’re up on stage every day, touting the benefits of pssi to the world-going green, boosting work productivity, free limitless travel, live forever.” Bob was walking around my office now, waving his hands in the air. “And you’ve got Nancy up on stage pulling for it too! How much does she know, I wonder?”

He looked towards the ceiling and held his arms wide.

“The great Patricia Killiam, godmother of all synthetic reality, globally renowned and trusted the world over,” he cried, “and the biggest drug pusher of all time!”

He looked back down from the ceiling at me accusingly. I sighed again, deeper this time. It was time to come clean. I looked down at my feet.

“What you’re saying is true,” I observed quietly, “but the benefits are true as well.”

“The first dose is free,” he snorted, “but then you start paying once hooked. Isn’t that what the release plan is? You’re giving it away for free?”

“Yes, that is the plan,” I sighed, nodding my head in resignation. “You understand what we’re doing, but you don’t understand why.”

“Oh, I understand all right,” he countered, “to make money, be powerful, to be more famous. The world is going to hell in a hand basket, and you’re the vultures ready to pick over its bones.”

That stung. I winced, but at least he had arrived at the crux of the issue.

“Yes,” I said after a moment, “the world is going to hell in a hand basket, as you say, but I’m not sure you understand the extent of it. Come with me, Bob, I need to show you something.”

He shook his head.

“Please, just come with me.” I nudged him with my phantoms.

Grudgingly he released control to me and we dropped through inner space to appear on a city street. Not just a city street, but one that was still charred from some cataclysmic event that had incinerated the place. There were bodies strewn everywhere, blackened flesh and bone exposed through shredded clothing.

“Look around Bob,” I said sadly. “This is the future without pssi.”

I drove our viewpoint around.

“War is horrible,” Bob replied, unimpressed. “But this isn’t your fault. How are you going to stop war with pssi?”

“We can’t stop war, but we discovered we could remove the root cause of it.”

I pulled our projection viewpoint back into space, far above the earth, and we watched as pinpricks of light erupted and sent tiny shockwaves across its surface.

“You’re watching a full scale nuclear war in progress. This is representative of many phutures for the human race.”

“But this is just one phuture,” Bob objected. “Everyone shifts their timeline when they see bad things coming.”

I shifted the viewpoint back, bringing into scope thousands and then millions of alternate future Earths, all burning under some apocalyptic scourge, whether biological, chemical, nanotechnology gone wrong or dozens of others.