Chapter 4. A Hack
“You talking about the source code of the… Universe?” I finally return him an answer after long moments of silence.
“Exactly. And, if we know how, or even if we don’t know much but we dare play around – and properly ask – our hacks will affect material reality.” His pointer finger describes an arc throughout the air, like an imaginary looping, then swiftly stops one centimeter above the grass.
“Sort of like the Google Glasses, augmented reality?” I ask as I’ve just read about this new gadget on my syndicated news feed.
“Even better: sort of like parallel worlds or time travel, or both. We can transpose a fantasy into a physical chimera. We may touch a fantasy, we may taste it, hear it, see it and smell it. The fantasy may enter our brains from the outside throughout our biological senses.” His hands wind the air at unison, like those of a bandmaster. Only harsh discrepancy is that my Don sits naked on a blanked. So I’m afraid that comparing his gestures to those of a conductor is far off. All of a sudden, I realize what he’s talking about and a new fear darts my heart – a physical fear this time.
“That’s really scary. What if I fantasize about drowning?”
“I wouldn’t try this kind of thoughts while hacking the source code. You’ll never know. The fantasy has the power to kill.” His hands halt for a moment and his facial expression of a slightly intrigued perplexity informs me that he learned something out of my question. But I pound him nevertheless.
“Isn’t it monstrous?”
“What are you calling monstrous? The deceptive and treacherous minds of ours? Or the hacking of the Universe?” Ball served back to me. I made him think at new implications. At least I dragged him out of the realm of theories and assumptions.
“Both! You mad man. And you experimented this on me?” Now I am outraged. Or I make it look like it.
“Not on you alone, on myself as well, on both of us. Here’s what happened. Three months ago, I grabbed and altered a small piece of source code out of the resonance pattern of the zero-point field. It triggers a novel reality only – and only! – when your slippery mind falls prey to doubts and begins wishing nonsense that you don’t have and perhaps that you can’t have and certainly you shouldn’t have… But that you long to have here and now. Desires that you crave for. Like last night when you made a wish to the shooting star. This wish of yours had your soul depart from your husband, from me, and wander away, rambling on a quest to fulfill your insecurities, to acquire what I couldn’t give you, all by your own. Or by the ways of the shooting star and yourself – it turned out to be a matter between your soul and that star, excluding me. Like in a big universal game of karma, the star became a handsome hunk at your service (an escort), thus occupying my slot in your life. In other words, you were mentally whoring with the star when you had that wish… Sure, I don’t mind you doing that, it’s nothing more than an innocent child play. But when your mind has the capability to turn a meteorite into Prince Charming then you have to account for your thoughts. Power without control is a very dangerous thing.” Yes, for one he managed to frighten me, so I start the breathing exercises again. Second, he caps with this power-without-control proverb that he likes to abuse all the time he means serious business. So I am in for more breathing in the hope to stay calm.
“And how did you get up there, on Jupiter?” I try to change the subject.
“Your mind let me go. While wishing your unspoken desires to the star, you fell asleep, kissing my hand goodnight, or goodbye… With that kiss you broke our mental bound only to seek comfort in dreaming about what if this… and what if that… Thus you gave my mind a free ticket to ramble away. So I did a jump for Jupiter to see if Sir Arthur C. Clarke was accurate in describing the worlds of his marvelous stories.”
“But if everything is a mere product of your imagination, how could you make sure that’s not an illusion?” I feel at lost again. In spite of his insistence on me reading from the classics of science fiction, I didn’t mind to read more earthly, realistic literature, which suits me better. And here I am, confronted with the imminent realities of distant worlds and dusted stories. Confronted or implicated?
“Persons may be illusory and invented by our minds but not landscapes. Physical nature can’t be hacked, my darling. It’s a matter of sheer, incommensurable size. Only God could hack the entire space, if He wished to.” I look at him as the talking heats him up. He jumps on his feet and stretches his hands then describes a wide circle with them, then turns around like he tries to make an imaginary sphere. “We are too little to grasp the existence, honey. But the extreme fun for a species so tiny as we are is that we can pinch at it.”
“Pinch at what?” I ask, distracted by the stork that flies over our heads, in the opposite direction this time, back to the banks of the nearby river for a new harvest of frogs and lizards – her little ones must be very hungry.
“Pinch at the existence, dear. Where is your mind? At that stork? We can make reality bubble up a way or another, conditioned by our fantasies. Ain’t that cool?”
“What are you telling me then: that you actually were on Jupiter?” I want to mock him and I’m ashamed that I can even think at this. In total disregard of my conflicting thoughts, he adopts a grave pose and, with both hands on his hips, he addresses me.
“I claim that I observed the higher atmosphere of Jupiter on-site, hands-on. Most likely a surrogate of me wandered the skies of that distant planet as an “observer,” while the “real” me sat in the living. But what I did saw and heard up there, that was for real. Jovian sounds and images. Live! We can’t invent or imagine such immense realms as Jupiter. We don’t have the capacity to mentally fabricate them as palpable physics, like those guys did in Inception – that is pure fantasy and dreaming. But we can only observe and measure the realms of reality. If we can hack our way into the system, that is…” He stops the discourse, deranged by the second stork heading to the river. Then he jolts a branch of the tree for few more reddish apricots.
“No, thanks. So what you are telling me here is that we sort of replicate into something like a fantastic bubble reality, which is very accurate because we don’t imagine it, it’s not a dream product, but the fine grained created real world. Could this allow our consciousness to understand parameters that we never learned, or that we forgot?”
“Yes, definitely. Throughout our subconscious we can read structural parameters, we can further analyze them and give them a sense in our thinking process. Ain’t that groovy, extending your perceptions to the subconscious? Experiencing the outer nature and sensing it from within?”
“Oh, this may explain how unbelievably familiar I was in guessing the cardinal points just by looking at the trees in our garden. It bewildered me. You know that I never grasped geography.”
“You make a point here.” He surely knows about my lack of orientation. He calls it a female matter and this is why I don’t take it too personally.
“So it’s a quid pro quo. I dream at money, at a magic fix to all of our material problems and, bang, the Wishguy whirls down to stand in front of me, gives me Platinum Cards and even offers a good fuck. I’m glad that I stopped short of that.” Or am I not?
“Now, bunny, let’s go back to Ruddy’s letter and read in there if we can find any good words about polygamy…” Ouch, he caught me, badly! But he is also catching two chairs in his hands, from the patio, so we may sit on them here, in the shadow of the apricot, near the edge of our garden. I admire his moderately muscular body. For a geek, who lays all day long under a laptop, he’s just fine keeping himself slim. What turns me on is seeing his muscles, even if not pumped up, and what turned me off years before was seeing his beer belly. Good riddance! Alas, I must answer to his suggestive question about polygamy.
“I see what you mean. That you, as men, have the right to hold more of us, women, if you so wish. But that we, as women, have to stay faithful to our one man, no matter if he decides for one of us, or for many.” I can’t believe that I said this to a man!
“You are a clever girl.” At least I get compliments…
“And an ashamed one. Because, in spite of your right to take more women, you still chose to have only me, your unique wife and mistress. And I was the one bitching at you… Sorry…”
“Two-in-one! No need to be sorry, Doris. I have two reasons for wanting only you out of the many allowed. The first is…”
“…That you love me more than yourself, right?”
“And the second then?”
“The second is a practical one, a technicality.”
Sometimes I get the feeling that he is playing me with all those technicalities. But who knows? Maybe he is up to something, and something good for me.
Let me think: he considers me a divine gift; he tells me that I am two-in-one, his wife and mistress at the same time; he is profoundly panicked about changing body fluids with unknown persons, even casual kissing seems too risky for him, I did well scaring him about bacteria and parasites, actually this only helps with his health, and mine; he acts like a nerd, walking with his head in the clouds and talking stuff that would hush away a normal woman; he’s got wind that men have the right to mate with more female partners but he isn’t hurrying up to enjoy the benefits of this omnipotent privilege.
In conclusion, I have no other choice than to admin that this man is head over heels in love with me.
In three words: he is mine!