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 Codeity  (4 ratings)by Chris Jenkins Page 1 of 2
The quiet insistent beeping of his watch alarm broke his concentration and brought him back to reality. He didn't know when it had started. As he looked at the time/date sequence on his screen, he realized he had been logged in for nine days. Nine days. He was stunned. Where had the time gone? He realized he stank, and was covered with a thin film of sticky sweat. He felt around on the desk for a pack of cigarettes, and fished the last one out, flinging the empty pack back aside. The first long pull tasted like vomit, and he thought something might have spilled on his smokes, until he realized he was tasting his breath. He had been so close this time; he could feel it. He had been searching the vast cyberverse for months now, looking for the answers that he knew had to be there. The signs had been there, pointing the way, and yet he could never seem to find that magical URL which would answer all of his questions. It had started innocently enough. He was a programmer, and consequently spent great quantities of time on the web. He had been socially active online, participating in chat groups, discussion lists, huge technology forums where the greatest minds in the world dissected Electronic Consciousness, attempting to understand the evolution of this beast. More and more, he was seeing great minds railing out against the technologies they had helped to create. But it wasn't so much the inevitable backlash against technological progression that got his attention, as it was the private hushed conversations that occurred in the shadows. He had begun to seek out those conversations, looking to unveil the mystery that they hid. It was a year before he had even the first piece of the puzzle. He had been lurking on a discussion board started by some hackers who apparently believed that the internet had been started to simulate the mind of God. They conversed in an archaic lingo, describing bizarre rituals they performed, post modernist hybrids of high magic and technology. He was convinced they were absolutely nuts. Yet, his mind wouldn't let it go. This global mass of fiber optics and servers, the logical connections, why not, he wondered. The damn thing didn't exist for real anyway. It was a virtual connection, pulses of energy being routed through virtual machines along virtual pipes. Why couldn't it be the mind of God manifest through man? The comparisons between the internet and human neurosynaptic pathways were striking. We had built this thing using our own brains as a blueprint, without ever realizing it. What had driven this? Whose plan was it? He had purchased the software through a website that specialized in less than ethical applications of programming. It promised it would allow him to point at any individual network connection, and view all the data that came across it in encapsulated binary packets. Another application would translate it into text, and he could scroll through it at blinding speeds using his intra-optical monitor, scanning for certain keywords. He had begun spending all of his time focused on this search for something, and he wasn't even sure what it was. Millions of files a day raced past his eyes, and his hard drive was rapidly filling with enigmatic files he had saved for further investigation, files with cryptic names like Apocrypha.asp, Elohim.YHVH, creatix.bat. His voice mail and email were also rapidly filling, with angry messages from employers (make that former employers) and bill collectors. He took no notice of any of it, however. His sole purpose in life was to watch the code streaming half an inch from his pupil, relentlessly scanning for the key -- that singular string of data that would identify God. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood, and stretched, his body protesting loudly in a series of pops and pulls. He realized he was ravenous, but a quick check of the refrigerator showed nothing that had been edible any time recently. He splashed some water on his face from the sink, quickly brushed his teeth, and changed into jeans and a light shirt in preparation for the necessary venture outside. As he walked down the sidewalk to the corner market, it started to sink in exactly what condition he was in. People that he passed were quickly averting their eyes, wrinkling their noses, moving well out of the way. He saw the gleam of a madman's passion reflected in the fear in their eyes. It used to be said that madmen were those who had gazed upon the face of God, he thought to himself. Perhaps there was more than a grain of truth in that. He chuckled bitterly, much to the dismay of the elderly woman exiting past him, trying not to hurry. An hour later, feeling much closer to human after a meal of convenience store fare and several cups of coffee, he sat down at his desk once again. He lit a cigarette in the absent minded fashion of one who has performed an action so many times that it requires absolutely no thought. His eyes were already poring over the reams of paper he had printed the night before. 113,862,741 URLs turned up when he searched for God, but hours of scanning revealed that they were all written by and for humans. Well, he thought, only one way to find it. Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2001 Chris Jenkins, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. The author has submitted the work in accordance with and in agreement with the following Submission Guidelines. |
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