May 15, 2084
In the sun-dappled courtyard nestled between the three dominant, sleek laboratory buildings on Brenda's expansive estate, a remarkable scene unfolds. At the core lies a temporary structure, a chameleon in the landscape—crafted of programmable matter. It's as if the avant-garde artwork has come to life, with walls that breathe translucent light and ebb with subtle colors, their hues blending seamlessly with the natural world. The structure, both there and not, has an ephemeral quality to it, signaling its fleeting purpose in this open-air nexus of innovation.
A grand table anchors the space within, circular to facilitate conversation and camaraderie. Explicitly designed from rich, polished wood that seems almost alive under the touch, it gleams with a warmth that contrasts the ephemeral nature of the surrounding walls. Along the perimeter of the table, air display strips lie inlaid, their advanced technology ready to flicker to life with projected data or holographic imagery—awaiting the will of their users.
The air displays burst with life as the projections of Pooka Chooke, Jung Ji-Yoon, Magnus St. Sere, and Elon Musk maintain a silent vigil around the table. These digital phantoms, so meticulously crafted they almost breach the boundary of reality, unite intellects from across the globe in this unique space of collaboration. An empty seat marks the spot for Landsbury, yet there's a unanimous, unspoken understanding—his absence is expected. Shrouded in years of mystery, his current whereabouts—or even his existence—remain a subject of speculation among them.
In stark contrast, Brenda and Richard are here in the flesh, sitting with their palpable presence. The air around Brenda crackles with the weight of her domain, while Richard emits a more subtle yet equally influential aura. Each contributes to the atmosphere, a mix of digital and organic intelligence.
And in the corner, just beyond the ethereal walls, stands Anáa, her form unobtrusive yet undeniably watchful. Her purpose is clear: to record every nuance of the meeting, every spoken word, every shift in the dynamic. Nothing will escape the vigilance of her sensors—each gesture, each inflection is captured and stored, contributing to the archive of human—and post-human—interaction.
The atmosphere within the temporary structure is thick with distress, a palpable layer of tension suspended above the large round table. Sunlight filters through the translucent walls, playing off the solemn faces of the assembled avatars, their sophisticated programs skillfully mirroring the somber mood.
A world away yet seemingly beside them, Pooka Chooke, Jung Ji-Yoon, Magnus St. Sere, and the avatar of the legendary Elon Musk digest the gravity of the reports scrolling across their air display strips—a stark reminder of the world's reliance on virtual presence and seamless communication technology.
In stark reality, Richard occupies his chair, a tablet resting on his lap. His eyes scan the device, consuming the words with increasing unease. Every line etches deeper concern into his features as he processes the catastrophic news. He grapples internally with his conflicting emotions—wanting to offer solace to Brenda while also feeling the urgent need to drive home a hard lesson in accountability.
Brenda sits across from him, the weight of the disaster pressing down on her like a physical force. The brilliance that once allowed her to save millions through her groundbreaking work in BioNano technology is now obscured by a shroud of remorse. Today, her transcendental innovations have inadvertently facilitated a tragedy of unthinkable scale; forty million lives extinguished. The loss is staggering, and she is the nexus.
Richard's demeanor speaks volumes without uttering a single word. His impulse to blurt out an “I told you so” is checked by an understanding of the emotional depths Brenda must be plummeting through. He didn't want to add pain to her already evident torment, but he held steadfast to the belief that this incident must serve as a sobering lesson. A lesson that, despite their god-like command over technology and life itself, they remained fallible.
He adjusts his posture slightly, steeling himself to navigate the delicate balance of providing consolation without diluting the critical truth of the day's lesson. A tacit dance of empathy and stark reality commences, with Richard aiming to be the anchor that Brenda so desperately needs in this tumultuous sea of her own making.
Seven people sat around identical tables in different parts of the world. And tried to wrap their mind either through scientific fascination, morbid curiosity or culpability.
Jung Ji-Yoon, with a background steeped in biology rather than the new wave of gravity manipulation technologies, expressed a naive incredulity. "I thought you said that the square root rule would pretty much make using gravity as a weapon impossible or at least too difficult to be worthwhile."
"It is, it does," Pooka responded, confidence waning under the pressure of unfolding realities. "The power requirements and the structural demands would just be unwieldy. I refused to believe this was a weapon."
"But if the goal was destruction, surely structural demands would not apply," Jung countered, his mind grappling with the potential misuse of their own creations.
"It's still running; it hasn't blown apart," someone observed, highlighting the eerie continuation of the catastrophe unfolding far from their controlled environment.
"Harmonic resonance," Brenda whispered, the horror of understanding dawning upon her. Dropping her head into her hands, she wept openly, her body shaking with the force of her sobs.
Richard, who often found himself trailing when it came to the intricate mathematics and the science that propelled their world forward, had been reaching out to place a comforting hand on Brenda's shoulder when the epiphany struck him too. This was undeniably doable. The information they had so freely disseminated could indeed be twisted and combined into a weapon of unimaginable scale, fit to unravel any region of the world. They had not just been playing with fire; they had handed out flamethrowers.
The room fell into a charged silence as Elon's voice cut through the tension, the typically stoic mogul allowing a hint of emotion to permeate his words. "This is 6-30 all over again, except this time it's our fault." His admission resonated with a rare vulnerability, eliciting a collective introspective pause. It was a generous allocation of guilt, some recognized, considering his relatively minor role in the events that had unfolded.
Their conversation had revealed a grim reality: an ongoing problem, a vulnerability that he had sensed but could not articulate until now. Richard recoiled from the chilling thought. Their collective hubris, his futile pleas for caution—their achievements had bred a destructive force beyond their worst predictions. Simultaneously desiring to offer comfort and to shake sense into Brenda, Richard was caught in an emotional maelstrom. Their tech, their world, their very existence was now at the mercy of the very progress they had so passionately pursued.
Pooka's mind raced ahead, weaving together the implications of the disparate technological threads that had inadvertently conspired to create catastrophe. "Programmable matter, transmuters, and gravity manipulators used in concert to build and grow a web of oscillating gravitational changes to set up a sympathetic harmonic wave that amplified the effects without requiring additional power." She paused, a new realization dawning on her. "But the computational aspects of organizing that, and adjusting to the changes in terrain, materials, and resonance in real time…" She trailed off, piecing together the staggering requirements of such an endeavor.
Then, with a clarity that struck her like a physical blow, she connected the dots. "Google's been moving much of its company to the ColdMind AI buildings in Antarctica." The implications sent chills down her arms. "Does anyone else think Google might have tried to literally wipe Microsoft off the map?"
The air grew heavy with the implication of her words, the sheer audacity of the act, if true, sending tremors through their understanding of corporate warfare. It was a chilling prospect: tech giants clashing with the world as their battleground.
Brenda’s gaze fixed intently on St. Sere, her eyes sharpening with a speculative edge. "WireFrame has that kind of computing power," she stated, almost as if voicing an accusation.
Magnus, unflustered by the underlying charge in her words, responded with a calm, diplomatic tone. "The state of Denmark refuses to acknowledge that accusation," he replied, maintaining a composed demeanor that neither confirmed nor denied the implications of Brenda’s assertion.
A silence spread through the gathering, magnifying the tension. It was broken by Magnus, the veil of his usual stoicism slipping to reveal a flicker of concern. "The computational power required at least limits the players that can pull off something like this. That mitigates the danger to some degree," he offered, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. In his mind's eye, he was undoubtedly running through the defenses of his own corporate fortresses, gauging their susceptibility to similar threats.
"For now, anyway." The gravity of that afterthought hung in the air, a sobering reminder that the safeguards of today might not hold against the relentless march of innovation and ambition. The very essence of human progress—once a beacon of hope—now cast a looming shadow over them all, a reminder that the greatest threats could come from within.
The room's attention pivoted as Higgins Grainger, an infrequent voice in their debates, spoke with an unexpected urgency that underscored the gravity of their situation. "Yoon, Elon, Magnus, even you, Brenda," he listed, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn, "are potential targets. I'd like an immediate vote and plans to accelerate Project Nest Egg."
Higgins Grainger's voice, seldom heard, sliced through the thick air with unexpected assertiveness. "Yoon, Elon, Magnus, Brenda—any one of us could be next. We need to act decisively. It's time to vote on accelerating Project Nest Egg.” His Australian accent, rarely noted until now, marked each word with a newfound gravity.