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    All That We See or Seem
    All That We See or Seem
    All That We See or Seem
    Ebook221 pages2 hours

    All That We See or Seem

    By Troy D. Smith

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    About this ebook

    Will Shaw wanted a better life. A parenting license, maybe a physical upgrade for his wife. But he has a nasty habit of asking too many questions, an infamous radical brother, and a directive from the Committee of Programmers to report to The Marches—where reality and sanity blur, and which few return from. Shaw discovers the government’s shocking secrets, but it is Robert Jenkins, the agent assigned to watch over him, who must face the consequences. Both men learn that nothing in their world is what they thought it was. Smith and Allen’s 1994 novel probed the future of virtual reality and found madness...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCane Hollow Press
    Release dateOct 16, 2011
    ISBN9781465760791
    All That We See or Seem
    Author

    Troy D. Smith

    Born in the Upper Cumberland region of Tennessee, Mr. Smith has loved books even before he could read them. In 1995 his first short story was accepted by Louis L'Amour Western Magazine, and he has been published in magazines since then on a fairly regular basis. Author of numerous award winning short stories and novels, Troy is currently a Doctoral candidate in the History Department at the University of Illinois. He says, "I don't write about things that happen to people—I write about people that things happen to."

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      Book preview

      All That We See or Seem - Troy D. Smith

      ALL THAT WE SEE OR SEEM

      By

      Troy D. Smith and David Allen

      All That We See or Seem

      Troy D. Smith and David Allen

      Copyright 2011 by Troy D. Smith and David Allen

      Smashwords Edition

      FOREWORD

      1993.

      The voice of Tom Selleck (Magnum, PI himself) came through our television sets, telling us that one magical day we could watch the movie we want the minute we want; we would be able to borrow books from a thousand miles away, carry our medical history on a plastic card, and buy concert tickets from a cash machine—and AT&T was the company that would bring it to us.

      Our new Vice-President Al Gore told us that there would soon be a worldwide information superhighway, in part because of legislation he passed as a Senator (or, from a different perspective, Al Gore invented the internet tubes.)

      At the University of Illinois, researchers at the National Center for Supercomputing Applications introduced MOSAIC—the first worldwide web browser (I could never have guessed at the time that fifteen years later I would be working part-time at NCSA doing something called digital history.)

      And in 1993, my friend David Allen and I were inspired by all those things to write a book, which we finished in early 1994. We tried to imagine where a worldwide web and virtual reality might take us. We incorporated elements from many of our favorite authors, from the writers of Doctor Who and Chris Claremont’s run on the X-men comics, to Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung. By far our biggest influence, and the one to whom our novel was an homage, was Phillip K. Dick. Dick’s stories often centered on an everyman protagonist who discovers that nothing is what it seemed; that reality is purely subjective (many of Dick’s works have been translated to the movie screen: Blade Runner, Total Recall, Minority Report, The Adjustment Bureau, Impostor… perhaps you detect a theme.)

      Many other novelists and filmmakers were asking themselves the same questions in the 1990s that David and I were, and some of them borrowed from the same sources. The 1999 movie The Matrix, in particular, bore a lot of similarity to our work, but so did several others. Despite that, All That We See or Seem has held up well; not just because of its prescience (a lot of our fantasy has become reality—sort of—in online role-playing games like World of Warcraft) but because it is a good story. It is among the best writing either of us has done, and we think you’ll enjoy it.

      Troy D. Smith

      October 17, 2011

      Take this kiss upon the brow!

      And, in parting from you now,

      Thus much let me avow-

      You are not wrong, who deem

      That my days have been a dream;

      Yet if hope has flown away

      In a night, or in a day,

      In a vision, or in none,

      Is it therefore the less gone?

      All that we see or seem

      Is but a dream within a dream.

      --A Dream within a Dream, by Edgar Allan Poe, 1849

      A land where all things always seem’d the same!

      And round about the keel with faces pale,

      Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,

      The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.  

      Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,

      Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave

      To each, but whoso did receive of them

      And taste, to him the gushing of the wave

      Far far away did seem to mourn and rave

      On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,

      His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;

      And deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake,

      And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

      -The Lotos-eaters, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1832

      PART ONE:

      SHAW

      CHAPTER ONE

      William Shaw had his back to the class, and was writing meticulously on the chalk-board. The yellow chalk flowed silently across the green surface. Shaw pronounced aloud the word he had written: Proconsul.

      He turned to face his students. They sat in their plush chairs, each finding his own method of coping with the boredom. There were twenty of them. They were divided equally between the sexes, but there were no other major differences. They were all fair of skin and of medium height and build for their ages. Their hair was uniformly sandy brown, and even their features were oddly similar. They resembled a roomful of siblings—they could be distinguished at a glance, but the physical similarity was striking.

      Only a couple of the children were noticeably different from the others. Their added height marked them as patricians, not plebes. Brahmins, of course, had private tutors, and workers had been excluded from secondary education for decades. Drones did not receive even elementary education.

      The reason for all the similarity, naturally, was that al of the students were teen-agers. They bordered, but had not yet reached, the age of decision. Their primary adult appearance had not yet been set.

      Proconsul, Shaw repeated. Who can tell me the duties of a proconsul in the Roman Republic?

      He waited patiently, but there was no answer. No one? he challenged. "We covered this material not twenty minutes ago. Surely someone remembers."

      He still received no reply. He picked a student at random. You, Davison. What were the duties of a Roman proconsul?

      Davison’s eyes slowly focused. After pondering the question for a moment, he said, He beat the Roman drones.

      The class erupted into admiring laughter at what was apparently, to them, a witty response.

      Shaw was not amused. He shook his head sadly at the realization that twenty-five minutes of lecturing had all been for nothing. He had been under the impression when he began his career that, even though the majority of his pupils would be apathetic, there would always be a precious few who actually wanted to learn. After eight years of trying, he had yet to find the first one.

      His chosen field of expertise was mostly to blame. Although Shaw loved the study of ancient Earth history, he had to admit that it held little attraction to the modern youth. It was the study of an ancient environment, of dead civilizations and a dead way of life that would never rise again.

      The buzzer sounded, mercifully ending Shaw’s review or the day’s lesson. The children gratefully poured out of the room, passing through the door like mercury. Shaw sighed a deep sigh. His day’s work, like theirs, was completed. Another day in the trenches of education, he thought bleakly.

      The intercom on his desk bleeped, cutting rudely into his thoughts. He stared at it with a hint of malice.

      Yeah? he demanded of the device.

      The clear voice of Mrs. Owens, the supervisor’s secretary, answered him. She sounded as if she were in the same room he was, even though the supervisor’s office was in another room of the building.

      Mister Sandoval wants you to stop by on your way out, she informed him brusquely.

      Thank you, Shaw absently replied, although the connection had already been cut. He had only met Supervisor Sandoval on a handful of occasions since serving at Public School #127. Sandoval granted few audiences, and as far as Shaw knew, none of them were granted for the purpose of doling out praise.

      Shaw gathered his notes together and placed them in his briefcase. He put on his jacket, carefully tugging at his shirt cuffs so they would be visible. He wore the white silken shirt with the lacy cuffs and collar that was all the rage, touted heavily by the artistic types in the Fashion District. Shaw had owned that particular shirt since his first year of college—he knew it would come back into style eventually.

      He paused at the door, which opened automatically at his approach with a hiss. He scanned his classroom a final time to ensure that nothing was out of place. Unlike the sterile, Spartan walls throughout the rest of the building, Shaw’s walls were decorated with maps and charts. The maps were of a geography that no longer existed, at least not in the world of humanity. Shaw liked to believe that the places depicted in those illustrations did still exist, somewhere.

      He stepped into the corridor and headed for the elevator. He nodded curtly to a couple of science teachers he passed along the way. He had never made any friendships among his colleagues. He was not sure whether that was due to his own indifference, or to theirs. He suspected that it was a combination on both.

      Shaw stepped into the elevator, and within a few seconds he was standing outside the supervisor’s office. Mrs. Owens gestured for him to enter.

      Sandoval was a man of around fifty, and had accordingly chosen a mature, silver-haired appearance, complete with thick-framed eyeglasses. He was toying with a holo-puzzle, which revolved slowly in the air before him. When Shaw entered, the puzzle faded away.

      Good evening, Shaw. Have a seat.

      Shaw complied, sensing his overseer’s uneasiness. Shaw was moderately handsome, though not overly striking, as befit a plebe. He had bright blue eyes and wore a thin mustache. His auburn hair was usually just a little unkempt.

      What can I do for you, sir?

      I took the liberty of listening in on your class today, Sandoval announced, as though Shaw had never spoken. Good stuff. Ancient Rome—highly recommended by the Committee of Programmers. And COP always knows what they’re talking about.

      I’m glad you liked it.

      The Romans were a good example for our youth—and our own generation as well, Sandoval continued. The things they accomplished!

      Shaw nodded. I’m thinking of introducing the kids to the westward expansion in nineteenth century America.

      Sandoval looked surprised. What on earth for? he demanded.

      Shaw shrugged. I don’t know. Something different, I suppose. I think the same old thing gets dry after awhile.

      What does that matter? The drier the better, I say. We don’t want to confuse the poor kids. Stick to Rome—it’s worked for as long as I can remember.

      But they don’t seem to like studying about Rome.

      Of course not. They don’t like studying about anything. They only like to be entertained.

      But I’m not there to entertain them, I’m there to make them think. Isn’t that what COP keeps telling us?

      Sandoval leaned forward, lowering his voice to the point that he sounded conspiratorial. Has it ever occurred to you, he whispered, that by forcing them to occupy their minds with something or other of their own choosing in order to maintain their sanity while you prattle on about Ancient Rome, you are actually teaching them to think? He smiled. In fact, your classroom is probably the only place they are forced to entertain themselves.

      Shaw was unsettled by the man’s cavalier attitude about learning, especially since he was in charge of the entire school and, by extension, the minds of all the students.

      You may be right, Shaw said, the words bitter in his mouth. But if that is the case, my position seems pointless.

      Nonsense! Sandoval said forcefully. We keep their young minds occupied, that’s enough. Teach them Rome. I’m very happy that you got over that whole India thing. Sandoval’s dark eyes stared at him through the lenses of the false eyeglasses. I was beginning to grow quite concerned.

      Why? Shaw asked, his guard up.

      It didn’t seem a proper course of studies for our modern world. Especially the way you dwelled on the caste system, comparing it to the Network.

      Our present social structure is as comparable to that of ancient India as it is to Rome, Shaw said. The programmers borrowed heavily from both systems. The similarities are obvious.

      To us, perhaps, Sandoval said, but not to the average citizen. But be that as it may, it’s one thing to compare the Network to a successful world empire. It’s quite another to compare it unfavorably to a system that some have interpreted as unjust.

      We don’t live in a police state, Shaw answered. What possible harm is there in stating the truth?

      Not the truth, Mister Shaw, your interpretation of it. And that interpretation could be damaging to the morale of the people. The real difference is that Hindus believe in reincarnation as a means of improving their lot in life, as I understand it. We have no other life to flee to—this world is our only option. Why stir people up, when there is no hope of anything else for them?

      I wasn’t stirring anyone up. I doubt if anyone even listened to me.

      I listened, Sandoval said. If I did, so could Security.

      Shaw was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. I’ll be more careful in the future, he said. Will that be all?

      No, Sandoval answered. That’s not what I called you up here for anyhow. Not completely.

      Shaw looked at him, expectant. Sandoval shuffled his papers nervously for several seconds, his eyes glued to them.

      I received a memo from Education Central, he finally said. It instructed me to grant you a one month leave of absence, inasmuch as you are being given a temporary transfer.

      I didn’t request any transfer, Shaw said, confused.

      Sandoval smiled grimly. I never dreamed you’d have requested this particular transfer. It’s to the Frontier Labor Division.

      Frontier—? Shaw choked back the rest of the title, not even wanting to say the words. But that’s impossible. That division is made up of drones.

      And others, Sandoval said.

      Shaw’s face reflected his dawning comprehension. Of course, he said softly. Drones, and criminals.

      "And dissenters," Sandoval added.

      Shaw shook his head in disbelief. All because I lectured on Hindu caste systems?

      Of course not. I never reported that incident, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s most likely your brother again.

      My brother? What’s he got to do with it? Shaw asked innocently, knowing that the supervisor was surely correct.

      He was only the most infamous dissenter in recent memory, Sandoval said. And everyone knows you were close.

      So?

      "So, how can you be trusted? In their eyes, I mean. Use your head, boy. Why do you think you were transferred here,

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