The Complete Atopia Chronicles

11





Identity: William McIntyre



A DENSE GRAY fog hung around me. No dampness, though, no heaviness—in fact I couldn’t feel anything. In the distance, a light approached and began filling the space around me with a soft radiance that was growing and alive. Curious, I moved towards the light. It grew brighter and brighter, surrounding and enveloping me, and then swallowed me whole, painlessly, soundlessly.

I awoke with a start in my bed, blinking, breathing quickly, looking around and trying to calm myself down. The image of the fog was fading. Was I just in a fog, on the water? What was that about? I must have been dreaming again. I tried pinging Bob, Sid, Brigitte, but nobody answered—weird. I felt lightheaded. Maybe I’d better go and get something to eat to shake out the cobwebs a bit.

I got out of bed and walked over to the fridge, and pulled out an apple, some bread to toast, and after a moment of thought, reached into the cupboard to pull out some instant oatmeal. I shook out the oatmeal into a bowl, poured some water over it and watched the water start to steam and boil as it soaked into the thermo-reactive particles embedded in the oatmeal.

I watched the oatmeal, mesmerized like it was one of my campfires. This is your brain on oatmeal, I thought, watching it bubble and splutter.

Within a few seconds it was done and piping hot. Topping it off with some brown sugar, I sat down at my counter, shining the apple on my pajama pant leg. I smelled burnt toast. Am I having a stroke? The toast popped. Oh right. Calm down.

I wondered what was new in the future this morning, so I flicked on some Phuture News Network and waited for a flood of what was about to happen. Blank. Nothing was about to happen, apparently. All that was playing on Phuture News were images of me watching Phuture News with my oatmeal before me. Must be some kind of screwy trick Sid had going again. Ah well, I wasn’t going to play along. I just sat and quietly ate my oatmeal.

A deep chill passed by me, and a wave of goose bumps shivered across my exposed arms. Suddenly, I was having an out-of-body experience, watching myself as if through a pane of frosted glass. I was there, but not there. I felt calm. All the worries I had a second ago, about work, Brigitte, money—everything was suddenly gone, and I realized how small these worries really were. I was so calm, so cold, and there was that fog again, so familiar and yet so alien. Where was I? And why did I want to know?

My brain snapped out of it, as if wrenched from a bear trap. Whoa, what is going on? I blinked hard and shook my head, looking down at my congealing oatmeal. Phuture News was on now, and apparently the odds were that our friends Orlando and Melinda were going to have a big cat fight soon. I suddenly liked the idea of cats.

Most people had already lined up on team Orlando, so I opted for Melinda. I always liked the undercat, and at least this time is wasn’t Adriana. As I watched, clever taunts were being devised and their viral values sized up by several off-island marketing agencies, eager to reach the Atopian crowd.

The social storm clouds grew as I dug into my cooling oatmeal, watching the action unfold. It reminded me of Brigitte. My stomach tightened.

I put down my spork.

My brain snapped out of it as if wrenched from...a bear trap. Something was very wrong. I blinked hard again and shook my head, looking down at the congealing oatmeal. Didn’t I just eat that? Phuture News was now blank, and back to images of me staring at images of me staring at images of me staring at images of me.

The oatmeal was sputtering and bubbling in the bowl as steam issued forth from it. I was standing back next to the fridge, holding the apple, about to shine it on my pajama leg. Wait a minute. Didn’t this just happen? I was déjà vuing hard, losing my grip. My chest tightened, and my breathing was labored. Jesus. I thought was I having a heart attack, or maybe a stroke. I smelled burnt toast.

“Wally!” I cried out. “Wally! Where the hell are you?”

Where the heck was he when I really needed the guy? Wasn’t he supposed to be watching out for me?

“Willy, calm down, everything is okay,” I heard Wally say, his voice soothing, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. “Don’t worry Willy, everything is fine. Calm down, your vitals are way off the chart. You’re probably feeling chest pain, it’s just anxiety. Your blood stream is flooding with cortisol and adrenalin. Take a deep breath, calm down.”

I took in a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out. My cheeks were flushed.

“Calm down,” I told myself, “calm down.”

Closing my eyes, I focused myself, and I could feel the stress begin to wash out. Suddenly I was lying down. Maybe Wally had helped me back to bed.

I could see myself lying still, lying absolutely calm. What was I just worrying about? Why worry about anything? Everything was so insignificant in the big picture. My head felt like cotton balls had been stuffed in through my ears, displacing my brain, and I had the curious sensation that I was wrapped in idiot mittens, determined somehow not to hurt myself or get lost.

In my mind’s eye I could see myself with my mother. She was bending over me, the arms of her sweater rolled up as she happily hummed some lullaby, giving me a bath in the chipped porcelain wash basin in our old family kitchen, back on the commune in Montana.

Through streaked windowpanes, I could see trees swaying outside under wet, windy skies. The cows in the field were huddling under the protection of the ponderosa pines that lined one side of our farm. Beyond this, the dense forests stretched up into the foothills, with the snow-capped Rockies solidly framing it all.

It was cold outside, but warm in here. The steaming water was soaking into my little bones. We were so happy together in this small moment of time, so precious. I heard the splash and tinkle of water as she lifted the wash cloth, the sounds echoing through time.

“How’s my silly Willy?” she laughed, tweaking my nose.

“Wally?” I asked, more calmly this time. “Wally, what is happening to me? Where are you?”

I could sense Wally, but I couldn’t see him or hear him. Somehow though, I could feel him speaking to me.

“Willy, everything is okay,” I felt him say. “There’s something I need to tell you, though.”

I should’ve felt worried, but I didn’t.

“What? Go ahead, don’t worry.”

I felt like I already knew, even though I knew I didn’t.

“You’re part of something special, Willy.”

“Yeah, Wally, I know. The Atopia program, I got that.”

“Not just that, something more unique, something much more important.”

“Go on.”

I liked that. I’d always thought of myself as unique, like a small snowflake adrift in the wind, floating painlessly, soundlessly.

“You’re familiar with Schrödinger’s cat?”

“Sure.”

The old quantum physics thought experiment. An object in superposition can exist in more than one state. The cat in the box that is both alive and dead at the same time. For some reason Vince came to mind.

“It’s now possible to enable quantum superposition not just with atoms, but on larger objects. Much larger objects in fact.”

“So what’s this got to do with me?”

Quantum physics needing a conscious observer had always annoyed me. It smacked of God hiring city workers to turn the cranks of the cosmos.

“Willy, you may want to sit down, there is a downside to what I’m about to tell you.”

I was already lying down. What was wrong with him?

“Your living space is contained within a giant quantum trap. You are the first sentient being to be wholly placed in a superposition state, and right now, you are both alive and dead at the same time. In a moment, when you understand what I’m saying, you will also be the first observer to observe themselves in superposition and so fix your own life or death. Before you fully understand what I’m saying Willy, hurry, and tell us what you are feeling.”

So I was in a quantum trap. I was the cat in the box.

I looked down at my hands and looked inward on myself, looking at myself, looking at myself...and I meowed.

§

I woke up in bed, alone, soaked in sweat with my heart pounding. As the dream faded, I remembered what had happened. Brigitte and I had split up, and Wally was gone now too, but I was still here, which meant that somebody, somewhere out there, was taking care of me.

I was still alive.

Greed had brought me to this place, and they were probably going to put me in jail for it, but I had to do something.