Rudy Rucker - Spaceland.pdf - Rucker - Wandersmann

Spaceland

A Novel of the Fourth Dimension

by Rudy Rucker

For Tom Banchoff, Kee Dewdney,

Martin Gardner, and John Walker

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: New Year's Eve

Chapter 2: A Visitor From the Fourth Dimension

Chapter 3: Momo's Cross Sections

Chapter 4: Las Vegas

Chapter 5: A Dream Of Flatland

Chapter 6: A Narrow Escape

Chapter 7: Klupdom

Chapter 8: A Date With Tulip

Chapter 9: Mophone, Inc.

Chapter 10: Bad News

Chapter 11: Pop!

Chapter 12: Drabk

Chapter 13: Return To Spaceland

Chapter 14: The Empress

It was the last day of the 1999th year of our era. The pattering of the rain had long

ago announced nightfall; and I was sitting in the company of my wife, musing on the

events of the past and the prospects of the coming year, the coming century, the

coming Millennium. —Edwin A. Abbott, Flatland

*1*

New Year's Eve

My idea for handling December 31, 1999, was that Jena and I should fix a nice meal,

drink champagne, watch TV, and stay clear of the Y2K bug. I bulldozered over

Jena's gently voiced ob-jections. I figured that at midnight the power would go out

and the rioting would start. We'd lock the door and light some candles, and Jena

would smile at me and kiss me and say I'd been right to make us stay home. In my

mind, that's what was going to happen. And, hey, even if I was wrong about the

rioting, we'd miss a Millennial traffic jam.

My secret hope was to get Jena in bed before midnight so we could be in each

other's arms right at the moment of the Big Flip, all those nines rolling over to zeroes

and the two of us close as close could be. That was the right way to usher in a new

Millennium! Yes! Not that I came out and told this to Jena, as I knew very well that

she would have preferred to go somewhere complicated and expensive.

Jena liked sex even more than I did, but she didn't like for me to make assumptions

about when we'd do it. It was always supposed to be some kind of surprise. A

spontaneously occurring romantic impulse. A force of Nature, unpredictable as an

earthquake or a hurricane. When in fact it was inevitably every one to four days. One

of the ways I passed my time at work was to update an Excel spreadsheet tracking

our sex frequency. I had a formula in one of the cells to compute what I called the

DBS index. A rolling average of the days between sex acts. When the DBS rose

above three, it was time to turn on the charm. Buy flowers, talk about Jena's

prob-lems, do like that. Not that I always did. To tell the truth, a high DBS was my

fault as often as it was Jena's. Even though I talk a good game, I'm not the most

highly sexed guy around.

Thanks to a stressful Christmas visit with Jena's mother and step-father back in

Prescott, Arizona, the DBS was up to 4.1. I should have at least planned to take Jena

out for dinner on New Year's Eve. Put us both in a romantic mood. But by the time

the facts hit my radar, every place was booked and full, as things always were in

California. Not that I really and truly looked that hard for some-place to go. I was

fixated on my game plan. Hit the sack before midnight and the romance would take

care of itself!

Late in the afternoon of New Year's Eve I drove over to the Kencom campus in San

Jose to bag this experimental TV set from our lab. In my pinheaded ignorance of

what women actually care about, I had the notion that if I brought home some really

cool electronics, then Jena would be down with staying home on New Year's Eve.

As if.

Spazz Crotty was there in the lab, busy at his giant flat-screen monitor as usual. A

tall, skinny guy, late twenties, a few years younger than me. I'm thirty-one. Spazz

was wearing baggy, long skater pants, black leather sneakers, and a T-shirt with The

Finger on it. He had short, bleached-blonde hair, with the sides of his head shaved.

He had a ring in his nose and a big silver stud up on the top of his ear. I kind of

admired him. Spazz was cool. He had tattoos. Jena had always wanted me to get a

tattoo.

He did a voice recognition thing, answering me without looking up. "Hi boss. Want

to watch me write some TRACE statements? Nasty bug in the serialization code."

Even though Ken Wong had hired me on as the product manager for the 3Set

development team, I knew next to nothing about programming, and Spazz never let

me forget it.

"You shouldn't be working, Spazz. Today's a holiday. The Big Flip."

"So what're you doing here?" Spazz broke into coughing, having trouble getting his

voice started up. He coughed a lot.

"I want to take the 3Set home and test it out. You haven't broken it, have you?"

"It's working," said Spazz. He had a hoarse, wheezy voice, and he talked very

slowly. Every time Spazz spoke, he made it sound like he was letting you in on a big

secret. "I was watching the Teletubbies this morning. I was getting really good

depth. But then when I went to save and reload the image I got a power-switch

crash."

I felt a surge of annoyance. "We don't need the freaking save and reload. We took it

outta the beta spec last week. It's developer gold plating. You were at the meeting.

Why are we even talking about this? It's New Year's Eve, dude."

Spazz turned and stared at me for a minute, fingering the hoop in the side of his

nose. And then he smiled, suddenly happy as a kid let out of school. "Thanks for

reminding me. What time is it? I'm supposed to meet Tulip at home." He glanced

back at his screen. "Jesus, it's almost six. I'll ifdef out the serialization code, do a

rebuild, and close it down." He hit a few keys and the build messages began

scrolling down the bottom of his screen. No warn-ings, no errors. We were almost

ready for production. "You're tak-ing the 3Set?" said Spazz. "Does Ken know?"

"I might have mentioned it to him," I said. Though of course I hadn't. No way would

Ken want the 3Set leaving the lab. It was so secret that even his venture capitalists

didn't really know what it was. Not to mention the fact that the 3Set was,

theoretically at least, dangerous enough to be a liability risk.

Spazz grinned. "You're the boss, Joe." He copied the fresh build of the 3Set driver

software to a Zip disk for me, shut down his computer, put on his leather jacket, and

held the doors for me while I carried the 3Set out to my leased silver Explorer SUV,

a premium model with the full Eddie Bauer trim package. The 3Set was a heavy

mofo, with a thing like a fish tank instead of a picture tube. A true 3D display. The

chips in it had a way of combining successive TV images to build up a 3D image

inside the tank. It was pretty neat, when it was working. The risk aspect had to do

with the fact that there was a hard vacuum inside the tank, and it could conceivably

implode. But I was cool with that. I set it onto my back seat and fastened the seat

belt around it.

Spazz's red Japanese motorcycle was next to my car; he took out his keys and

unfastened his helmet from it. "We're outta here, huh Joe?" said Spazz. It was getting

dark. There was a Wells Fargo bank right across the lot, with people lined up to get

money out of the cash machine. I'd already gotten mine.

"What are you doing tonight, man?" I asked Spazz.

"Riding up to San Francisco with Tulip."

"Was it hard to get reservations?"

Spazz gave me a pitying look. "The taquerias on Mission Street don't take

reservations. You're so uptight, Joe. It's like you're middle-aged. I bet you're

planning to stay home and watch TV. On the 3Set, right?"

"You're gonna wish you were with me when all the lights go out," I said. "The

roads'll be gridlocked. It'll be straight outta Mad Max ."

"I have to admit I'm just a little bit worried, too," said Spazz earnestly, using his

slowest, hoarsest voice. "I have this mental image of the Earth as being like one of

those chocolate oranges, pre-cut into time-zone-sized segments. And when the

Millennium hits, the segment with Tonga works its way free and tumbles off alone

into black space, the sun glinting on the curved sector of its rind, with Tonga's part

of the South Pacific all sloshing off the segment's edges. It's probably already

happened, dude, but they're covering it up. And presumably the rest of the South

Pacific is pouring down into the huge, wedge-shaped gap that Tonga's segment left,

it's a thousands-of-mile-high waterfall that vaporizes into steam or even into plasma

when it hits the molten nickel of the Earth's exposed core. It's gonna drain the

Pacific dry. And more and more of the segments are falling out, needless to say. I

wonder how soon the drop in the water level will be noticeable in the San Francisco

Bay." Spazz broke off in a fit of coughing, bending nearly double.

I looked at him for a minute. He was putting me on. "Freak."

"I'm articulating the basic fear," said Spazz, straightening up and fingering the stud in

his ear. "It's atavistic. The Y2K bug is a psy-chological displacement mechanism.

People are terrified of the Mil-lennium, and, ashamed of their fear, they project it

onto this specific little computer problem. A niggling factoid to talk about instead of

facing their inner Void. Hell, I know some of the hackers who helped hype the bug.

It's a hoax on managers, man. A way to take down the industry for a few billion

bucks."

"I hope you're right," I said, though really I hoped he was wrong. "Look, why don't

you and Tulip stop by my place on your way up to the City. We're on your way."

Spazz and Tulip rented a crappy shack in the Santa Cruz mountains even though

Tulip was a very well paid process engineer at a chip fab.

"You're really staying home with Jena?" asked Spazz. "Where do you live, anyway?"

He looked slightly interested. Spazz had met Jena at the Christ-mas party and they'd

hit it off. Jena was a real live wire in social situations. As a marketing manager for a

web tool company called MetaTool, face-to-face interactions were her thing.

"In Los Perros," I answered. "We bought a townhouse next to Route 85. It's at 1234

Silva View Crescent. Just a starter place till Kencom goes IPO."

Ah, the IPO, more eagerly awaited than the second coming. Un-til Kencom went

public, our shares of founder's stock were toilet paper. The thing was, Kencom still

hadn't come up with the killer product that would galvanize the market. For a

dot-commer, Ken Wong was kind of old school. We knew we wanted something to

do with communication, fine, but Ken had this obsession with mak-ing our new

product from wires and plastic and chips—instead of from Java and press releases.

Frankly, the 3Set looked like a bit of a dog. I mean, a full-grown man could barely

even carry the thing. Where was that at, in this day and age?

I wrote my home address on the back of a Kencom business card and handed it to

Spazz. "Stop by around nine."

"Maybe I will," said Spazz with a wheezy laugh. "Jena's hot." What a thing to say.

Sometimes it was like techs didn't realize that I actually had a mind. Like I was an

ape, or a robot.

On the way home I picked up a fresh loaf of sourdough, a couple of Dungeness

crabs, a bottle of Dom Perignon, and some roses.

Jena was just getting out of the shower, wet and gorgeous. She was half Yavapi, and

she had that classic Native American face with a strong, perfect nose and high

cheekbones. Her eyes were narrow, as if designed for seeing across great distances,

their color a clear shade of hazel. On her mother's side Jena was Norwegian. She had

a good figure, pink skin and hair light colored enough to dye to regulation-issue

California blonde. Did I mention that she had cutely bowed lips? She was the kind of

woman that guys turned around to stare after in the street.

Jena was happy with the roses I'd brought; she laid them on the built-in dressing

table while she started drying her hair in front of the mirror, standing there naked. I

sat on the bed watching her, drinking her in, the curves and colors of her body. Jena

always enjoyed being the focus of my attention.

"I got champagne and two Dungeness crabs," I told her.

"That sounds festive." She gave me a warm smile in the mirror. I walked over and

kissed her. Held her in my arms. She made a soft noise and leaned back against me.

I should have put a move on her right then and there, but I was kind of into getting

the 3Set installed. And it seemed better to save the sex for midnight.

So I went out in the living room and got to work. I had to plug the 3Set into the wall,

hook it to the cable TV line, run a USB cable from the 3Set to my computer, plug a

Zip drive with the 3Set software into my computer's parallel port, and jack a

Playstation controller into the game port for changing the viewpoint on the 3Set. The

more tech we get, the more wires we need. It's like a law of nature. N times N or

something. I had to get down on all fours under my composition board OfficeMax

desk to figure out the wires, which is something I hate. Rooting around in the dust

bun-nies knowing you're probably getting it wrong.

"What are you doing?"

"Jena!" I scraped the side of my head getting back out. Jena was wearing a party

outfit, a shiny little red dress. She had her makeup thing happening, and her dyed

Rudy Rucker - Spaceland.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: