He found himself walking down a hall of
immense proportions. Pieces of technology could be seen littering the ground,
piled into high spires that reminded him of termite nests. Some of these mounds
were connected to each other with bristling wires, while others lay dark and
inert, disconnected from the larger network. A pinkish light filled the air,
and a subsonic electric hum persistently vibrated in U.'s ribcage. U. could
feel the hairs on his forearm standing to attention, as the currents of
electricity blazed around them, a perfect matrix of unseen energy. Televisions
of all sorts and brands lined the far walls, and were transmitting their
content relentlessly. News feeds, CCTV, sitcoms, footage of the Rwanda
massacres, commercials; all of them mingled in the pattern of an immensely
complex Technicolor quilt.
A stooped figure could
be seen making the rounds from one TV cluster to another. Its hunched profile
navigated between the high piles of machinery with surprising efficacy,
occasionally climbing over some of the dead debris. It stopped for a while
before some of the TVs and watched them, only to soon continue on, sometimes
pausing for to kneel and check something at the base of one of the tall,
lopsided spires. Under the person's touch some of the nodes lighted up, while
others powered down, their lights ebbing away to darkness.
U.'s guide patiently
waited for the question.
“Who is that?”
“That is the Artifex.
He maintains and tweaks the Machine, so that people like you may experience it
to the fullest.”
“What does he do here?”
“He maintains and
tweaks the Machine, so that people like you may experience it to the fullest.”
U. took to sliding his
fingers across the surfaces of the lopsided mounds by which he passed. Some
parts of the spires were completely corroded, while others had a pristine
metallic shine, while still others gave off sparks or oozed a strange type of
bluish liquid which stuck to one's fingers and chilled the flesh. U. and his
guide slowly moved through the jagged environment, and the guide patiently
waited up for him when something peculiarly interesting occupied U.'s
attention. The stooped, dwarfish figure of the Artifex paid no attention to
them, and shimmied on as if they were not there. A deep hood shaded its face,
and, although he strained his eyes, U. could not make out its features. Who was
he?
“You will know soon
enough, U. Please, over there. The Machine is waiting.”
The walls of the large warehouse space were lined with narrow, tall,
sliding doors made of a cheap tin metal.
The guide paused next to one of them, and motioned for U. to come nearer.
He slid the doors deftly open, and the rattle of the thin doors pierced U.'s
ears. He stepped forward.
“Come in. Welcome to
your Machine.” The two of them
stepped into a small chamber. A padded reclining chair was connected to the surrounding
walls by monolithic curbs which presumably sheltered sheaves of wires. All
curbs and surfaces of the chamber were lined with dark, rubbery tubes, which
occasionally connected to larger metallic vectors. The room was dark, and no
sound yet escaped from the large contraption that nestled itself around the
small padded settee which sat directly in the middle of the cramped room. The
darkness was only pierced by a small aperture which looked up onto the night
sky. The softly diffused moonlight settled itself directly on the central chair
like a spotlight, giving it a seemingly white complexion.
U. walked around the
chamber, interested in every minute detail of the design. He saw large pistons
being bathed in the blue cooling fluid, their metallic bodies being washed over
like the faces of the drowned. Huge clusters of thin, white tubes lined the
ceiling corners, where they rested like huge beehives. They looked down onto
the room below, ominous, heavy, and seemingly about to tumble like a cluster of
ripe grapes.
Upon the touch of a
button from the guide, the room lit up and the large white beehives started
flashing like rainbow. The soft moonlight was ripped apart by the electric
drizzle emitted from the screens and dials of the contraption.
While U. was checking out the strange
interior, the guide started a monologue, speaking softly.
“This is your Machine.
As you may have noticed, there are many Machines, all lining the walls of the
Central Chamber. This means that not everyone has the same Machine as you do.
They vary, because the experiences vary. You see, the Machine is an enigma, a
labyrinth. It changes its physical properties - its circuits, its wiring, its
software, everything – based on the mental capacities of the user. The users
come together, and create its environment by themselves and for themselves. The
nature of this process is still a mystery, and only Him, that great Artifex
we've caught a glimpse of, knows the minute working s of it. And even he does
not understand all.”
“So what can I expect
from it?” asked U. while slowly running his palm over a large copper dial.
“You can expect all and
nothing. You will fuse with the larger system of the great Machine. What
happens there stays there for each to figure out for the self. It is a risk; it
is an investment. Some stay linked to the Machine for decades and decades. Eventually,
they atrophy, their mouths ooze a strange liquid, and their flesh turns rubbery
and non-responsive. Some choose never to leave the labyrinth, and rather fuse,
becoming one with that great, mysterious being.
Others enter the
labyrinth's inner sanctum, receive, and re-emerge.
You see, the Machine may be found everywhere,
connected with other centres all over the world. It is in constant flux; it
constantly evolves and morphs, growing new appendages, forming new connections,
while letting others atrophy. It regulates itself, do you see? In this,
it is an organism in the truest sense; yet, created by the celestial art of
man.”
Here the guide paused,
and his eyes roamed the chamber with an appreciative air.
“Have you been in the
Machine?”
“Yes. But I am only a
servant. The Machine has been good to me.”
U. noticed the guide
kneeling mechanically by the door, his eyes still riveted on the glossy
surfaces of the wired walls around him. The being sat down on its haunches, and
bowed its back. Its forehead touched the ground with a metallic clink. Its back
then returned to its upright position and it proceeded to reach into a small
pouch in his caftan, pulling out a little copper card. It then got up and, with
that peculiar rhythmic gait, walked over to the nearest greenly flashing
terminal. The screen of the terminal was filled with algorithms, occasionally
flashing geometrical shapes which mingled and coalesced into twirling, dynamic,
psychedelic patterns, their permutations seemingly inexhaustible.
“Are you ready to
fuse?”
“Yes.” said U. and his
voice was surprisingly calm.
“Then sit down.”
U. proceeded to sit
down into the soft settee which enveloped him like a bean bag chair.
“Ab antiquo ad
aeterno,” mumbled the guide and proceeded to swipe the copper card into a
slot next to the main terminal. The Machine clicked and whirred, a myriad
valves and lifter galleries sliding into place; it started its mad dash towards
oblivion. A large headset, until then suspended a few feet above the central
chair descended ominously onto U.'s face. Its touch was soft and rubbery, and
U. could only see blackness. His body relaxed into the strange contraption, and
his senses bristled with expectation.
Then an explosion of
colour and sound filled his brain until it overflowed with electric sensation
and U. settled in for the long haul.
Jim Stein
