“Sounds a little too perfect.” Ellis found the bag of peanut M&M’S and set it aside. “Why the debate if it’s all going to be so grand?”
“That’s the ISP’s formal prediction. Not everyone agrees, of course, and there’s the problem of eliminating individualism. You might have noticed how a lot of us try to stand out in a world of so much homogeneity—tattoos, brands, and piercings are ways people take great pains to be different. You probably find those things strange, huh?”
“Tattoos and piercings? No, we had those in my day too,” Ellis said, and smiled as he finally found the opener. “Fairly popular when I left, in fact.”
“Really?”
Ellis took the can back from Pax and, setting it in the grass, began to open it. “Oh, yeah. Some people spent thousands of dollars getting their whole bodies inked. You aren’t the first to seek to be different.”
“But all of you were Darwins, already unique. How can anyone be more unique?”
“Believe me—people tried.”
Pax looked baffled, then shrugged. “Anyway, there’s a huge fear over losing identity. We already look the same, sound the same, smell the same, and now they want us to think the same—to dissolve our identities into a molten soup of conformity. No one will ever be special again, no one will be able to have any privacy, the whole world will always be there, in our heads, listening to every stray thought, every impulse, every desire.”
Ellis shivered. “Sounds like hell.”
“What’s hell?”
“Pretty much what you’re describing—a bad place for bad people.”
“A lot of citizens of Hollow World would agree with you.” Pax watched him rotate the metal wheel around the can lid. “This is fascinating. It’s like a histogram or one of those historical reenactments they do at museums. Only those people are just acting, guessing. You’ve actually done this before.”
“Open a can? Oh yeah—and for the record, you’re easily impressed.”
He slowed down. “The trick is not to let the lid fall in. Near the end, the torque will tilt the lid up enough to get your finger underneath so you can bend it back. There, see?” He lifted the lid up. “But be careful of the jagged edges. They can be sharp.”
“Incredible. It’s like camping with a caveman.”
“Oh yeah, Neanderthals loved Dinty Moore.”
Pax scowled. “I’m young, not an idiot.”
“No, you’re not.” Ellis looked for the spoon. “How about you? What do you think about this Hive thing?”
Pax hesitated, then said, “I’m scared of it. I like my hat and coat. I like that people recognize me at a glance, see me as different. Opinions don’t matter, though, which is why I find all the protests more than a little silly. Doesn’t make sense to scream about something you have no control over.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If the ISP had the means to go ahead with the Hive, they would.”
“But I assume you could pass laws to stop them.”
Pax’s head shook. “Doesn’t work that way anymore. Like I mentioned before, no one tells anyone else what to do—or not do.”
“What about—” Ellis almost said murder. “What about theft? You don’t tolerate stealing, do you? You must have laws restricting that.”
Pax smiled at him. “What can you steal from me that you can’t make for yourself? Or that I can’t reproduce in an instant? I wear a new suit every day. We don’t have a problem with theft.”
“But you must have conflicts that need to be resolved.”
“Of course. That’s what I do as an arbitrator. I solve those problems. Almost all of them are the result of a misunderstanding, misplaced anger, or irrational fear. You can’t make laws to govern accidents or emotions—no two are ever alike. They have to be worked through, solved like a puzzle.” Pax looked out at the hillside. “Thing is, none of it matters anyway. The ISP can’t do it. They don’t know how. Been working on the project for centuries and never found the combination to that lock. I don’t think they ever will. They also wanted to make it so people could fly—they never did that either. Still, the very idea scares a lot of people. Those in favor are often ostracized, and now there are these murders. Some have said they’re linked—a violent reaction to the ISP’s continued work.”
Ellis found the spoon and offered it and the can to Pax, who sniffed the contents.
“And you eat this?”
“It’s not considered a delicacy—and it’s supposed to be heated.”
Pax took a taste and made a face but nodded anyway. “It’s not revolting—I guess.”
“That’s only because you’re hungry. Just about anything tastes better when you’re outdoors and starved.”
They shared the can and spoon, passing them back and forth as they reclined on the hill and watched the sunrise bathing the hillside in warmth. Birds sang. Cicadas droned. A light breeze swayed the trees and blew the white of dandelions away.
When the stew was gone, Ellis tore open the M&M’S. “Here,” he said, “give me your hand.” He poured half the bag.
Pax looked at the little round balls with curiosity. “Very…colorful.”
Ellis chuckled. “You eat them.” He popped a red candy in his mouth.
Pax looked skeptical for a moment, then mimicked him. A moment later a big smile appeared. “These are wonderful. What do you call them?”
“Candy—M&M’S.” He thought to add that they were invented by Forrest Mars after he saw soldiers eating chocolate in the summer sun during the Spanish Civil War, but figured that wasn’t such a good idea. “Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.”
Pax picked up and studied the little yellow bag, turning it over and back. “I’ll have to see if Alva can find a pattern for this. If not, we should save some and find a designer to create one. The world should not be denied.”
Ellis laughed. “Well, at least the twenty-first century has one point in its favor.”
He felt good, which was amazing considering that the night before he had suffered his worst coughing fit ever. It was just after they had arrived back in what had been Michigan and Ellis felt like he was going to hack up half a lung. His chest still felt raw, but aside from that, everything else was hitting that perfect balance of being just right. The wind ruffled his hair, drawing Pax’s attention and creating a smile. He was neither too cold nor too hot. His lungs weren’t burning. He wasn’t tired or hungry. If he thought about it—if he looked back or forward—he would describe that moment as the tranquil eye of a hurricane. Panic or depression should have been appropriate. Instead, he was smiling, eating M&M’S, and even the can of two-thousand-year-old stew was enjoyable. As unlikely as he could imagine, it was a perfect moment.
“I wish it would rain,” Pax said. “They can’t even make that happen in an ARC.”
“What’s that?”
“Alternate Reality Chamber. Artists program illusions in a fixed space that simulate reality—sort of like what you see with falselight, only in an ARC they control everything—except the user, of course—and as such they can really suspend your sense of reality.” Pax ate another candy. “We’ve had problems with ARCs, though. People get addicted to them. Years ago, a lot of people died. They entered and never came out. Died of dehydration and malnutrition. You see, they only thoughtthey were eating and drinking. The Council required safety time-out features after over thirty people were found dead.”
Pax settled close to him again, leaning on his shoulder and looking out at the view. “But they can’t simulate rain.”
“I’d think that would be pretty easy,” Ellis said. “Just put sprinklers on the ceiling. You know—spray water.”
Pax smiled. “But that’s not rain. That’s just water falling.”
“Isn’t that what rain is?”