(The backstory to my recent 75-word post)
I walked along the strip of firm sand left by the ebbing tide. White linen suit, black t-shirt, sharkskin loafers (no socks), aviator shades; the epitome of 1980s retro cool. Well, I’m a man of wealth and taste – standards of sartorial elegance had to be maintained, even in splendid isolation. Sea breeze ruffled my hair, giving the shadow cast before me the appearance of unsightly ‘horns’. I smoothed my shoulder-length locks back into place, and stretched, wishing – yet again – I’d brought some company with me.
As gilded cages went, it otherwise lacked little; a villa on the shores of Madeira, stocked with enough supplies to pique the most jaded of palettes. But this was a mere simulacrum of the island, a version devoid of other inhabitants, one that existed solely as a reality bubble on the event horizon of a Beaumont Singularity. As an example of manipulated matter, even in microcosm, it made for the ultimate bolthole.
Having become the unacceptable face of rapacious capitalism, so far beyond the pale that even His Holiness the Pope considered me irredeemable, the only way out was to convince polite society that I no longer existed. My detractors had to believe either I was dead, mentally damaged beyond recognition, or had fled to the nascent Mars colony.
As a way of turning the global village into a cluster of glass houses, I’d invested heavily in life-signature recognition. This technology went so far beyond simple facial identification it had become the bête noire of civil liberties movements around the world. Once my unique aura failed to appear on a world-wide scan, the media would soon turn its attention towards naming and shaming other ‘enemies of decency’.
Well, that was the theory, and its elegant simplicity appealed to my belief in human short-term thinking for short-term gain. All I needed was a meal and somewhere to hide until my activities became yesterday’s news.
I’d been here seven years.
Betrayed by the loyal subordinate charged with extricating me from this vest-pocket playpen when the time was right. I wasn’t angry, no, just disappointed.
You wouldn’t want to see me when I’m angry.
Each day I walked below the high-water mark, so as to leave no trace come my subsequent promenade. An unsubtle metaphor for the intent behind my willing incarceration in this gravimetric purgatory. Except, of course, there was no chance of expunging my particular list of sins. Over the years I had planned my return to the world in exquisite detail, again and again, covering every possibility my fearsome intellect could conceive of. Which residual funds to draw upon, which front companies to establish, which members of elite society who owed me the biggest favours. A little shift in appearance and I’d easily re-join society, just another denizen of obscurity, overlooked even by God. Well, to begin with, at least.
There were times, though, when even my boundless optimism in human curiosity flagged. Eventually someone would spot the power being syphoned-off to sustain my existence and investigate the distorted Beaumont containment field. But until then-
I stopped.
I was being watched.
During my time here I’d developed a sense of when the native fauna was observing me, albeit with indifference. This was different.
After removing and pocketing my sunglasses, I turned, the very embodiment of nonchalance.
Behind me, almost close enough to touch, stood the shimmering black-and-white image of another world, superimposed upon my reality. A room, electronic equipment, two startled-looking technicians (I assumed no great seniority given their relative youth) and, looming behind them, the unmistakable dish of a Heisenberg Projector.
Oh, be still, my heart, be still.
They spoke to each other, but no sound could penetrate the boundary of a synthetic black hole. Due to the uncertainty principle, their mere act of observing me prevented the establishment of a stable phase-transfer portal. Escape lay so tantalising close it could have been a torment of my own devising.
I smiled, which provoked much agitation, but did not fear them shutting down the projector. What they had inadvertently achieved was suppressed technology, known to a mere handful of technocrats and politicians around the globe, at least in my day. The knowledge would prove toxic to those not deemed worthy of co-opting into this particular brotherhood of silence, but my two potential saviours would be blinded by the potential commercial application of reality in miniature.
Sometimes the oldest tricks are the best.
I feigned surprise and pointed behind them.
They both looked.
The portal steadied into a ring of fire as the live matter stream warred with reality itself.
I stepped through.
Aircon sharp with the tang of ozone, the backdrop beat of heavy-duty ventilation fans, a hum of electronics more welcome as any paean of praise.
They looked back.
Their faces registered surprise, shock, fear as I let realisation bleed into their consciousness.
Call me old-fashioned, but at times like these I can’t resist a smile.
And horns.
“Now, I trust I need no introduction?”
I walked along the strip of firm sand left by the ebbing tide. White linen suit, black t-shirt, sharkskin loafers (no socks), aviator shades; the epitome of 1980s retro cool. Well, I’m a man of wealth and taste – standards of sartorial elegance had to be maintained, even in splendid isolation. Sea breeze ruffled my hair, giving the shadow cast before me the appearance of unsightly ‘horns’. I smoothed my shoulder-length locks back into place, and stretched, wishing – yet again – I’d brought some company with me.
As gilded cages went, it otherwise lacked little; a villa on the shores of Madeira, stocked with enough supplies to pique the most jaded of palettes. But this was a mere simulacrum of the island, a version devoid of other inhabitants, one that existed solely as a reality bubble on the event horizon of a Beaumont Singularity. As an example of manipulated matter, even in microcosm, it made for the ultimate bolthole.
Having become the unacceptable face of rapacious capitalism, so far beyond the pale that even His Holiness the Pope considered me irredeemable, the only way out was to convince polite society that I no longer existed. My detractors had to believe either I was dead, mentally damaged beyond recognition, or had fled to the nascent Mars colony.
As a way of turning the global village into a cluster of glass houses, I’d invested heavily in life-signature recognition. This technology went so far beyond simple facial identification it had become the bête noire of civil liberties movements around the world. Once my unique aura failed to appear on a world-wide scan, the media would soon turn its attention towards naming and shaming other ‘enemies of decency’.
Well, that was the theory, and its elegant simplicity appealed to my belief in human short-term thinking for short-term gain. All I needed was a meal and somewhere to hide until my activities became yesterday’s news.
I’d been here seven years.
Betrayed by the loyal subordinate charged with extricating me from this vest-pocket playpen when the time was right. I wasn’t angry, no, just disappointed.
You wouldn’t want to see me when I’m angry.
Each day I walked below the high-water mark, so as to leave no trace come my subsequent promenade. An unsubtle metaphor for the intent behind my willing incarceration in this gravimetric purgatory. Except, of course, there was no chance of expunging my particular list of sins. Over the years I had planned my return to the world in exquisite detail, again and again, covering every possibility my fearsome intellect could conceive of. Which residual funds to draw upon, which front companies to establish, which members of elite society who owed me the biggest favours. A little shift in appearance and I’d easily re-join society, just another denizen of obscurity, overlooked even by God. Well, to begin with, at least.
There were times, though, when even my boundless optimism in human curiosity flagged. Eventually someone would spot the power being syphoned-off to sustain my existence and investigate the distorted Beaumont containment field. But until then-
I stopped.
I was being watched.
During my time here I’d developed a sense of when the native fauna was observing me, albeit with indifference. This was different.
After removing and pocketing my sunglasses, I turned, the very embodiment of nonchalance.
Behind me, almost close enough to touch, stood the shimmering black-and-white image of another world, superimposed upon my reality. A room, electronic equipment, two startled-looking technicians (I assumed no great seniority given their relative youth) and, looming behind them, the unmistakable dish of a Heisenberg Projector.
Oh, be still, my heart, be still.
They spoke to each other, but no sound could penetrate the boundary of a synthetic black hole. Due to the uncertainty principle, their mere act of observing me prevented the establishment of a stable phase-transfer portal. Escape lay so tantalising close it could have been a torment of my own devising.
I smiled, which provoked much agitation, but did not fear them shutting down the projector. What they had inadvertently achieved was suppressed technology, known to a mere handful of technocrats and politicians around the globe, at least in my day. The knowledge would prove toxic to those not deemed worthy of co-opting into this particular brotherhood of silence, but my two potential saviours would be blinded by the potential commercial application of reality in miniature.
Sometimes the oldest tricks are the best.
I feigned surprise and pointed behind them.
They both looked.
The portal steadied into a ring of fire as the live matter stream warred with reality itself.
I stepped through.
Aircon sharp with the tang of ozone, the backdrop beat of heavy-duty ventilation fans, a hum of electronics more welcome as any paean of praise.
They looked back.
Their faces registered surprise, shock, fear as I let realisation bleed into their consciousness.
Call me old-fashioned, but at times like these I can’t resist a smile.
And horns.
“Now, I trust I need no introduction?”
