David Edelman - Infoquake

"Listen: all of us in the bio/logics industry, all the capitalmen, the programmers, the channelers, the drudges, the fiefcorpers and memecorpers and engineers and analysts ... we're slaves, Natch. We're all slaves to want.

"Want. It drives the world! It moves mountains, it swallows cultures!

"You see it, don't you, Natch? Want is everywhere. It's in people. It's in programming. In politics. In nature. The universe just won't stay still. It wants to move; even its smallest particles want to be in motion. Take bio/logics. Aren't bio/logic programs in a natural state of incompleteness? We release version 1.0 of a program, and inevitably it is imperfect. Version 1.0s want a version 2.0, don't they? They practically beg for it. You toil for months on version 2.0, and you've still barely tapped into its bottomless reservoir of want. Version 2.0 wants a version 3, version 3.0 wants a version 4, and so on and on and on and on and on-forever!"

The antacid program wasn't helping. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Natch realized he would not follow through on his implied threat to Figaro. He would not spend his last few hours at the Proud Eagle shuttling desperately between second-rate capitalmen and seeking illegal handouts. If only this interview could be over. If only I could shrivel up inside my shell like a snail and never see Figaro Fi or Brone or Vigal again.

But the capitalman continued on mercilessly. "You ever heard that story about the Bodhisattva of Creed Objectivv and Lucco Primo? The Bodhisattva asks Primo what the key to success is. Primo says, Three things. Ability, energy, and direction. You have the ability, Natch, and you definitely have the energy-maybe more ability and energy than I've ever seen.

"But where's your direction? I don't need forty-five minutes to see you haven't got any. You have endless wants, Natch! But want without purpose destroys a person. Those who can't master their wants are loose cannons. They bring companies down. They ruin lives. They may flare brightly for a while, oh yes! But in the end, Natch, loose cannons fail. They lose money.

"Now your friend Brone-"

"Please don't call him that," Natch croaked.

"Your friend Brone is a real sharp programmer, but I've seen better. He's got a way with people, and he's a handsome kid, which never hurts. But he's got one thing you don't. He knows exactly where he's going, and what he's doing.

"I've seen it all before. You'll get to the top quicker than Brone, but then you'll just get pulled down by some other kid who's hungrier and angrier than you are. That's just the way it works."

Figaro arose, looking well pleased with his little sermon. He put the chewed cigar in his coat pocket, leaving Natch to wonder why he had drawn it out in the first place. Just before cutting his multi connection, he turned back to the boy with an arched eyebrow.

"Now, about that story with Lucco Primo.... A couple years later, this drudge asks Primo, So what's the most important element of success? Ability, energy, or direction? Primo sits back and thinks about it for a minute. Direction, he tells the drudge. Ability and energy you can buy. "

Figaro started chortling obscenely and prepared to cut his multi connection.

"Good luck at initiation," said Fi. "You're going to need it."

Some of the boys heard their initiation would take place in the South Pacific, on the edge of Islander territory. There were hundreds of islands in the area that remained pristine and untouched by modern technology. Other boys countered that an island wasn't remote enough. No, they would be shuttled off to some orbital colony specially designed for this purpose, or maybe one of the lawless quadrants of Mars.

Horvil decided (based on no evidence whatsoever) they were headed to the bottom of the ocean to live in one of the bubble colonies that the real estate developers tried to revive every twenty years or so. "I knew I should have studied up on hydroponics," he fretted to Natch as they filed out of the hive for the last time. "And I'm a terrible swimmer. Can't even hold my breath for a minute. You'll take care of me, right, Natch? You won't let me drown, will you?"

Natch hadn't spoken a word all morning. He found it pointless to speculate about their destination. Countless initiation compounds littered the civilized world, from Earth to Luna to the asteroid belt, and he never heard that any one was better than another. Besides, Natch knew from long and painful experience that isolation has no geographic boundaries. Even if the proctors arranged to shuttle them out to the remotest orbital colony-like one of those experimental stations beyond Jupiter-that still wouldn't erase the shame he had suffered last night with Figaro Fi. And Brone would still be there with his insufferable smirk and the knowledge that he had bested Natch.

Horvil and Natch marched solemnly with the rest of the boys towards the sleek hoverbird that would carry them to their destination. The Falcon 4730 was the standard workhorse of the aerospace industry, used for everything from cross-city transportation to inter-continental cargo hops. This craft could get them anywhere on Earth, or maybe even to a low-hanging orbital colony-but not underwater, Horvil was relieved to note.

Sixty-four boys boarded the hoverbird and settled into their seats with little conversation. Some pressed their faces up against the glass for a last wistful look at the beehive-shaped building they called home. The hive windows were lined with the small noses of children curious for a glimpse at their future.

"Goodbye, fucked-up childhood," sighed Horvil, waving manically at the children. "Hello, fucked-up adulthood!"

Natch wasn't listening. He was thinking about Figaro Fi's accusation: Where is your direction? The boy winced at the irony as the hoverbird levitated over the courtyard and winged away towards the unknown. Wherever Natch was going, he was headed there fast.

From liftoff to touchdown, the trip took only a few hours. They were not headed to some remote orbital colony after all, but to a nature preserve southwest of the Twin Cities. The initiation compound sat on a few hundred square kilometers of undeveloped country, completely walled off from the outside world. The hoverbird landed on a makeshift platform atop a dusty, windswept hill.

Natch saw the dust and instinctively reached out with his mind for a sinus-clearing program. He discovered that there was nothing to reach for.

They had been cut off from the Data Sea.

Most of the other boys had already realized this fact. They disembarked with grim looks on their faces, shouldering their packs and wondering what would happen next. The lone proctor who accompanied them on the hoverbird trudged behind a large boulder that served as a podium and began to speak. His words had the air of a speech honed and refined over many years of repetition.

"Two billion people died in the Autonomous Revolt," thundered the proctor, thumping his fist on the boulder. "Two billion! Approximately one-fifth of the world's population at the time. Entire cities and cultures and ethnicities wiped out forever."

He paused for dramatic effect. None of the boys so much as breathed.

"Why? They died because they had forgotten about this." The proctor swept his arm expansively at their surroundings. A thousand trees waved in the breeze like some rapturous congregation, while a small encampment down the hill served as the lone Doubting Thomas on the horizon.

"What you see around you is nature as your ancestors once lived it," continued the proctor. "Your ancestors did not have access to the Data Sea. They could not activate bio/logic programs to keep themselves warm in the winter, or fetch ten different weather forecasts with a thought. They did not have OCHRE machines working inside their bodies to shield them from injury and disease. Your ancestors learned to live this way during a hundred thousand years of trial and error.