A Future We'd Like To See 1.25 - Real to Real Editing By Twoflower (Copyright 1993) I don't know exactly how many watts the system used. 'One hell of a lot,' the salesman told me. Sounded good here. This was the BEST sound system money could buy. Three main walls of sound, angled just so to produce center, left, and right channels. Two walls of sound behind me for the back channels. Subwoofers to make the floor shake. Subwoofers with velcro straps on the ceiling to make that shake too. This sound system rivaled most rock concerts and violated most local arms treaties. I paid through the nose for it, but that's okay, as I had the money. Whoever said nobody wins the lottery is a lying moron, and I have (or had) five million credits to prove it. I carefully selected the first CD2 to play on my new PowerSystem. Hmmm. I think the soundtrack to Battlestar Metallica shall do it nicely. I popped the three-inch black disk into my walkman, then jacked the walkman into the incredibly huge cord connected to the speakers. I couldn't afford a decent stereo after I bought the speakers, so this would have to do for now. I hit PLAY. ######################### ##### # # ## # # # # # # # # ## # # ############### ######## ######### # # # # #### # ### # # # ### # # # # ############# Then I was ripped into little bits by the audio waves, as my apartment building collapsed in on itself with the first non- nuclear implosion in the history of man. I think the bass was a little off. * I pushed aside a few bricks, clawing my way to the surface. Someone threw a spotlight on me, temporarily blinding my eyes. I could hear shouts, sirens, helicopters, confusion... Boy, that's a lot of fire trucks. And a lot of squad cars and reporters. I guess the building was a spectacular wreck. I walked out, as the crowd of onlookers formed quite a lot of space around me. "Something wrong?" I asked. "How... HOW did you survive that?" a fire marshall asked, as other be-raincoated men sprayed down the smoldering remains of the building. "Survive what?" "The implosion... the fires... about a dozen tons of rock..." "Just lucky, I guess. Anybody got a phone I can use?" Six concerned motorists tossed cellular phones at me. Notice TOSS. Nobody seemed to want to come close to me. I walked across the street, crowd forming a neat bubble around me, and dialed up. "Hello?" "Hi, is this Bob from Speaker World?" "Yes." "I'd like to register a complaint about my system I just bought for five mill. Seems to have levelled my apartment building and killed about three hundred people. I'd like my money back." "Excuse me," said a man behind me. "Be with you in a second. Anyway, I really think there should be a warning label on those things, maybe Danger, These Speakers Could Destroy Your House--" The phone vanished from my hands. I blinked, then turned around. The man seemed to be wearing a green jumpsuit with matching walkie talkie headset. He was staring woodenly at a palmtop computer, which he holstered in his belt. His name tag read AGENT 4637, REALITY, INC. "Sorry about that, I had to return the phone to its owner. If you'll just step this way, we'll fix this mess." "Come again?" I asked. "Your name is Mr. Reginald Wapcaplet, is it not? And you just survived a fiery wreck that killed three hundred people?" "Just lucky," I reaffirmed. "Not really. There was a small editing error in transitioning you to your next lifetime. We at Reality, Inc. apologize for the problem, and hope it hasn't inconvenienced you." "Actually, I'm quite happy with the error. You guys do good work, whoever you are--" "Reality, Inc." "--yes, reality ink. If you'll excuse me though, I've got to see about getting a hotel room until the insurance comes in--" The man rested a vice-like grip on my shoulder. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear. You should be dead, by all rights and purposes, but you accidentally weren't transferred. You don't belong in this realm anymore, and your continuing presence is disturbing the existences of others. I've edited your appearance and actions out so far, all I need to do is edit you out next." "I appreciate it really, but I'd rather you didn't. I've got quite a few things to do." "You don't have a choice, sir. It's the laws of nature and the universe you're dealing with." "Can I appeal?" "I'm afraid not. Now, if you'll just step this way?" "Sorry." "About what?" he wondered. I promptly turned my head and bit his hand. HARD. He yelled in pain and I ran as fast as I could, barreling down the crowded night street. I bumped into him again, directly in front of me. "What the--?" "I simply edited myself to be over here instead. Please, sir, there's no reason to make this any harder on your- AAIIIIEEEEEE!" The 'aie' is from me kicking the man in the crotch. Wherever he's from, they've got testicles too. I pondered what to do next as his crumbled up, moaning form collapsed to my feet. I pulled the palmtop out of his belt, and despite his high- pitched complaints, ran down the street and out of sight. * I skidded over a puddle and into an alley, looking at the palmtop. I have this ability to size up a situation pretty quickly, without that what/who/when/where business, which can be very helpful at times. Logically, this has got to be what he's using to edit things around. Surely I can use it to. I hit the ON button. *ThinkPal Interface 4.02,* a voice in my mind echoed. *What is your selection?* *Great, I got it working,* I thought. *That is not a valid selection.* *Okay... list valid selections,* I thought to it. *Editing. Deleting. Inserting. Transportation.* *I'll take Deleting.* *Enter name of person to be edited,* it chimed mentally. *Umm... who was the previous owner of this unit?* *Agent 4637 of Reality Inc.* *Delete Agent 4637.* *Done.* *Great. Okay...* What now? I've got to survive that explosion. What's the easiest way to do that? *Battery life at 3%. Warning,* the machine flashed on its little screen simultaneously with the sound in my mind. *Uhh. Okay. Edit person Reginald Wapcaplet, who is holding you at the moment, and make him, umm, immortal?* *Point of edit* It's been about five minutes since the explosion... one minute to make the explosion occur... *Six minutes ago, local time.* *Done. Battery life drained.* The voice died away, and the little screen blinked out. I pocketed the thing. Now, if I'm right, I survived the blast due to immortality, and that weirdo in the green suit wouldn't be coming back. I've made it through, lived, and came out quite well in the end. * I was sitting a balcony of the third skyspire overlooking what used to be my home city. Not that we lived on the ground anymore, we hadn't for the last thousand years. Immortality! WHAT WAS I THINKING? Ugh, when it's not annoying, it's boring. When it's not boring, it's annoying. I fingered the long-dead, rusted and stained palmtop computer in my hand while chugging down some drink of unknown origin. I fought off a few dozen mental PSI conversations I had started looking for a battery for the damn thing, and just sat there, bored. I did a lot of sitting around, bored. I sat there for about ten years once before someone came into the apartment, thinking the previous owner was dead. I'd chase them away with a stick, then mope a bit. On the whole, it hasn't been the best of existences. "You, you damn little overgrown pocket calculator," I growled drunkenly at the palmtop, "Have ruined my life." I took the thousand year old thing and threw it as far as I possibly could off of the balcony. It fell, a small sparkly dot, thousands of feet, bouncing off the spires on its way down. *error* pensed the far-off voice of the palmtop. I almost didn't recognize it, that's how long it's been. *unit destroyed - notifying company* "What?" I yelled to the wind, vocal cords painfully stretching, as all my conversations for the last four years were done by PSI. "WHAT?" "Hello again," said a voice behind me. Long-atrophied muscles screamed to life as I bent out of my chair to look behind me. "It's been awhile," Agent 4637 said. "Been on the cutting room floor for quite some time. It took the destruction of my editing computer to get myself noticed." "What took you so fucking long?" I rasped. "Here I was, trying to power the damn thing on and make a call to ANYBODY to end this..." "That's what I'm offering. I hate leaving loose ends," he said. "I can edit you out of here now, and let you move on to your next MORTAL lifetime. Or, you can stay, and sit around until the apocalypse, then move on." "When's that?" "Oh, five thousand, four hundred and seventy four years from now." "No thanks. Although I'd like a spoiler." "The universe explodes." "Any reason? No massive megadeath weaponry and man's self- destructive behavior being its downfall?" "No, it just explodes." "How boring. Well, I'm ready to go, then." "Very good. Let me get my new editor working on it," he said, pulling out an identical but less beat-up editor. "So what happens next?" I found out.