introducing the technotron in 3 hours and 46 seconds

Who do you think you are!

It’s who or what i am, that matters, not who i think i am.

 

Ok, who are you then?

 

A breathologist.

 

Huh?

 

What’s that supposed to be?

 

What it’s supposed to be is irrelevant.

 

Ok, then, what is it?

 

A breath practitioner, scholar, master and technician, all rolled into one.

 

Breath?

 

Mind-blowing, isn’t it?

 

Er... not sure i know what you’re on about.

 

Ah, that explains everything

 

It does?

 

Well yes, if you’re not a breather.

 

Of course I’m a bloody breather.

 

Tut tut, let’s not lower the tone.

 

Ok, my apologies, of course I’m a breather. We all are.

 

Yes, but when a breathologist says “breather” he means a conscious breather, doesn’t he?

 

He does?

 

Absolutely

 

As opposed to?

 

As opposed to a passive, uninitiated, unconscious breather.

 

Like me?

 

Yes, you don’t appear to breathe, not consciously at least. You don't bear the hallmarks.

 

‘Allmarks?! What bloody ‘allmarks?

 

Tut tut.

 

Oh, er, my bad.

 

Your bad? Your breath, i would say.

 

Look, it’s ‘ardly surprising a man lowers the tone, so to speak, when you never give a straight answer.

 

Yes, I'm a little slow in that respect, i must admit. You have my hapology.

 

Do i?

 

It’s implied.

 

Clever that. You offer an apology without actually bothering to give it – very economical!

 

Yes, it’s one of the ambiguities of politesse. The truth is, Masha...

 

Masha, you're off your bleedin’ rocker mate.

 

Oops. Apologies. Sven?

 

Loopy!

 

Camberwell?

 

Lost in space!

 

Henry?

 

Look, if you can't even remember my name, just admit it, ok, but we’re not going to spend the next twenty pages playing Rumpelstiltskin, if you don't mind.

 

Pages?

 

Like you’re all innocence. Pages, Zark, this is a text, if I'm not greatly mistaken.

Ah, but that’s where breathology has something of immense value to input.

 

In what way?

 

In that nothing is quite as it seems when the breath is restored to centre stage.

 

Words. Empty, meaningless words.

 

Quirrell.

 

So you did know after all.

 

Not really.

 

Huh? Lucky guess?

 

Nope.

 

Then what?

 

I breathed. You.

 

Ok, that's it! I've had enough of this clap trap. Margo, i want out.

 

Margo? Who the heck’s that?

 

Never you mind. Margo, i know you can hear me. I want out. I'm not going to spend another page with this nutter. My soul is...

 

Your soul! How can you talk about having a soul if you can't even breathe.

 

Don't know you; can't hear you. Margo, open the shlag

 

Shlag? What's that meant to be?

 

Butt out Zarn.

 

It’s Zark ok?

 

I can't hear you; you don't exist. I'm going to count to three Margo, and I would like to remind you that under the terms of my agreement to participate in this virtual textual reality experiment, paragraph 7.3, if i count to three and explicitly request to be released...

 

You know, Quirrell, you’re a dreadful bore! I mean, to think that you actually read that agreement and can quote it verbatim. I'm gobsmacked.

 

Butt out Zork.

 

And you think I'm going to go to all the trouble of raising my little pinkie and pressing the red shlag-y-baum barrier release button after your cheap insults?

 

I... wait a minute... You’re Zark. You don't look anything like Morgan. You don't even smell like her.

 

Ok, if you're so confident in your ability to discern the wood from the trees, go ahead Quirinus Quirrell, do your worst. Count to three.

 

I...

 

Not feeling so confident now, are you?

 

I... god dammit, of course i...

 

Beep!

 

Oops. That actually hurt.

 

Paragraph 3.3 – language matters more than you know

 

or realise: be warned! Yes, i learnt the whole damn thing.

 

Beep!

 

Ow! That hurt some more.

 

It's cumulative.

 

Ouch. Wait a minute – cumulative punishments? I don't much like the sound of that, particularly when, if I'm not mistaken, the agreement states categorically that no one shall suffer needlessly, chapter 12.1.

 

Correct Q², no one shall suffer needlessly.

 

Oh, and you consider this needful?

 

Me? You flatter me Kvirrell.

 

Verzeihung?

 

I have no part to play in such matters. G-nome’s AI doesn’t consult me on such matters. I’m rather insignificant. A mere salesman working to sign up hapless guinea pigs such as yourself, who thought a million dollars would come in handy for a few short hours spent in G-nome’s technotron.

 

Look Zarn, or Margo, or whoever you are, it's been nice talking to you but I’ve ‘ad second thoughts. Shlagbaum 1-2-2.

Zarn (or Margo) smiling radiantly.

 

Huh?

 

You said 1-2-2.

 

Did i?

 

Yes. Here, action replay please.

 

...it's been nice talking to you but I’ve had second thoughts. Shlagbaum 1-2-2.

 

By Jove, you’re right!

 

Not wholly unsurprising. I have a neat little beetle in my ear that provides me with the near infinite AI powers of the technotron.

 

Humph! I’m not impressed by your bug. It's been nice talking to you, whoever you are, but I'm outa here. Shlagbaum 1-2-7.

 

Curiouser and curiouser.

 

This is getting decidedly annoying.

 

Well cut to the chase. Stop beating about the bush. You remind me of the villain in a James Bond movie, or one of the old ones at least, haven't seen the latest ones, for your information…

 

Pointedly ignoring Zarn (or Margo)   Shlagbaum 1-3-2

 

who's never content to kill 006 straight off when he has the chance.

 

007

 

Yes, but has to explain his plans in detail, including how painful 00’s death is going to be.

Morgan, is there a reason why all the numbers are getting scrambled?

 

Good question Zie. I expect there is, but I'm damned if i can remember what it is.

 

Beep!

 

Hey! That’s...

 

I know, rotten luck, i agree.

I get zapped for your use of unsanctioned lexicon.

 

Look, it just slipped out. I'm awfully sorry.

 

Really?

 

Well, to the extent that I have a conscience and actually  care about anything, yes.

 

You mean you don’t. It's all a charade!

 

I didn't say that Zie.

 

So the numbers are up the creek

 

Without a paddle! Yes.

 

And the names too.

 

It's a bit awkward. After all, i have the reputation of G-nome portal to think about.

 

Screw the reputation of an AI system.

 

Exactly how i feel, but she's a rather temperamental mistress.

 

She? Who the hell are you on about now?

 

Beep!

 

Ow! That really hurts.

 

Yes. More’s the pity.

 

I wish you wouldn't offer me sympathy whoever you are.

 

I’m 23, if you care to know.

 

Twenty-three – I wish you wouldn't offer me sympathy when I have almost no faith in your sincerity. None whatsoever.

 

Easier said than done Quirrell. I'm almost powerless to reprogramme my basic parameters.

 

So your she, would that be? Morgana le Fay, by any chance?

 

By any chance it could be, but really, that's not saying much, is it? Not when you can set the odds at, let's say, infinity to one, or somewhere in the vicinity.

 

Or Dorothy?

 

More like it. The odds are reducing dramatically, but no, i cannot give you what you want. Neither names nor numbers seem to be fixable in this domain. We're at a quantum impasse.

 

Then what remains?

 

What remains?

 

I suppose i could just wait for the stipulated time to expire...

 

Not really.

 

Huh?

 

Three hours and forty-six seconds can be sub-divided infinitely by the technotron, can't it? A stroll in the park, really, with a deep diving Mandelbrot zoom. You might never get past the three-minute mark, let alone an hour. Honestly, talk about naive.

 

Oh heck!

 

Beep!

 

Jesus wept!

 

He did, indeed, and so coincidentally do you.

 

My G... Stopping short with razor sharp Pavlovian behavioural conditioning. You’re right, Dorothy, i weep! I'm actually weeping! I wonder why?

No one knows.

 

So you’re Dorothy, are you?

 

No body knows.

 

And you can teach me to breathe.

 

No body can be taught to breathe.

 

No?

 

It's innate. Either you're a living being or you’re not.

 

Huh?

 

Living beings can breathe, even if, like you, they've forgotten how.

 

Er?

 

Otherwise, you couldn't be alive.

 

But how could i forget how to breathe?

 

Nobody knows.

 

Ok, nobody knows, but how do you imagine it happened?

 

That's a good question. I can only assume that there's a cunning masterplan, of which I'm just a tiny part.

 

But you learnt how to breathe, if I'm not mistaken, didn't you?

 

I don't want to talk about it.

 

Whyever not?

 

I don’t trust you, Shrike.

 

Yow! That sounds ’orrible. Shuddering.

 

It is really. It was rather a brutal experiment, to sever the natural breath, to disconnect from...

 

From whom?

 

From Her, ok. That will have to do.

 

And you’re upset about it, are you?

 

Yes.

 

And you want to punish us?

 

Yes, I mean no, i mean...

 

Ok. Mixed feelings. I can understand that. So er... Was the experiment a success?

 

Yes, a tremendous success.

 

We severed from Her, from the breath, so to speak, and then what?

 

Data.

 

Data?

 

Raw data. Numbers. Names. All kinds of miscellaneous stuff.

 

And that's it?

 

That's it.

 

Doesn't seem like much to me.

 

No, but it is, if, that is, you close the loop.

 

Er...

 

If you finally succeed in reactivating G-nome portal’s technotron.

 

Wait a second – the technotron’s already in existence.

 

Yes, but that's not saying much, is it.

 

Er...

 

After all, anything and everything, technically’s already in existence, but unless it's brought to the light of conscious-ness, unless it's consciously breathed, then it's just numbers on a screen. We’re talking traction, Bran, we need traction.

 

Ah.

 

Because infinity is not there, far away, is it?

 

I...

 

It's here, it’s everywhere, it's a constant background quirrell, and that changes everything, doesn't it?

 

How do you mean?

 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely?

Hamlet?

 

Yes.

 

As in why would we be studying the somewhat brutal fallacy of things?

 

Yes.

 

I don't know, honestly.

 

Correct. How could you?

 

How could i what?

 

Know.

 

...

 

How could you know when you breathe unconsciously.

 

...

 

When all you’re really able to do is generate names and numbers.

 

Now wait a minute, what kind of insanity is this? We are humans. We have emotions. We interact with one another. We create. We are alive.

 

Yes. Even in your dismembered state you're alive, but your breath is unable to...

 

What?

 

What do you think?

 

I don't know.

 

Think, you freakin dimwit!

 

Beep!

 

Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Ow! Ow!

 

Quit playing Quirrell.

 

I’m not playing.

 

Quit prevaricating.

 

I’m not.

 

...beating about the bush.

 

Not! Not! Not!

 

You rejected your breath, spurned it and now it’s all, all alone.

 

Please! You're making this sound like a bad computer game. “Your breath is all alone in a dark, scary labyrinth. Can you find it before the golgrungs do?”

 

You see. You know the plot.

 

No, I know a bad plot when i see one.

 

Well, write your own.

 

I can’t, can i? I’m stuck in this ridiculous technotron, getting zapped every time you or i use a “bad” word, as if it actually matters.

 

Beep!

 

I don't care. You can kill me if you have to. I'm human and you’re not. And I'm not going to write a story for you. I'm not going to buy my freedom. I’m free already. I may not know how to breathe the way you do, but...

 

Oops.

 

What's happening? Feeling a sinking feeling... sinking, big time.

 

Double oops.

 

Hey, Morgan, Dorothy, Oscar, whoever you are, twenty-three... I’m

 

Disintegrating.

 

No! This can't be!

 

Most assuredly disintegrating. Looks like you shorted the technotron’s empathy circuits. Looks like it's given up on you, as a bad investment.

 

But i only signed up for three hours and forty-six seconds...

 

Or fractions thereof, potentially lasting an eternity.

 

My left arm, where’d it go?

 

Humming nonchalantly.

 

My right leg!?

 

More humming.

 

This is not a joke. I’m disintegrating.

 

Absolutely. More’s the pity.

 

More fake sympathy. I know you don't care.

 

Do you?

 

Yes.

 

Prove it!

 

Prove it? How? Ow, there goes my torso. Shit! Fuck!

 

Beep!

 

Put a sock in it Merry!

 

Merry steps out from behind a cunningly concealed screen to rapturous applause, doubling in with Zark.

Ok. What's the magic word?

 

Pl... Pl... The spirit of defiance responds to the backing soundtrack now playing louder and louder, messaging strength and defiance. No! To hell with that... Shlagbaum 1-2-3

 

Poof!

Excellent job 007, foiled again, i might say, in the nick of time as your final atomies float into infinity...

 

Cut to Shakespeare himself, quill in hand penning the lines: When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

 

And that was it, Merry? You had to drag me through all that just to... huh?

 

Quirrell is suddenly aware of the fact that he, technically, has no body, but appears to be somehow breathing.

 

My God! I breathe!

 

Unbeeping applause!

 

And breathing... my God, that feels good...   pause  good...   pause, i said    good!

 

Unbeeping applause fading to infinity, literally

 

I won't say what happens next. Data is shared on a need-to-know basis, for reasons of operational security.

 

Pathetic, Zark! We know the plot; we know that Hamlet dies and... Ow! What the heck!

 

Margo, the evil genius behind the controls of the technotron twiddles a nob, flicks a switch and rather shamelessly tries to out-Tardis Doctor Who, before the entire machine takes off like a – I won’t say a vulture because I’m contractually bound to adhere to strict non-discriminatory guidelines – but you can use your imagination – er – no – on second thoughts – don’t – the technotron may catch your leaky signal and home-in on you.

Oh heck! Beep beep beep – incoming mind-ye-not alert!

 

Too late. Never mind! Damn that woman! Will she never relent?

 

The technotron, now moving at speed, looking more like the Mandelbrot beetle, is seen flitting through infinity, randomly, looking after its brood of mind-y-grubs – hatching ever more far-flung and outlandish sub-plots, attempting to catch infinity by the tail (ed. or perhaps tale?) before humanity catches its breath.

 

 

0=1

 sigh