Ch 3 – Reboot Civilization Y/N?
“Do not press Cancel if you wish to decline the non-deletion of records exceeding 300,000 years.”
The buttons below it simply read: [Cancel] and [OK]. Ayaan Sheikh, an IT-expert, stared at the VBA Excel-prompt, concentrating on his decision, so as to not stumble over all the double negations. Ayaans team were in the midst of a summer lull, and spent the season downtime on clearing out some old legacy files from their system files. He had never opened an Excel-file before, and only read about them in the computer history text books. He took a sip from his cappuccino-mug, its text reading “Switch Citadel Campus – Tahoe-Reno, N.V”; one of the largest data centers in the world, swallowing an incredible one Gigawatt of power. A colleague called out; “It’s 11:45 – let’s move to the cafeteria.” Ayaan responded, his neck facing the screen, and his body twisting to grab his lunch box. “Sure.” Ayaan pressed [OK], and locked his laptop screen, pressing Ctrl + L.
A couple of milliseconds later, 300 m below sea level, a corner of a nuclear bunker server room lit blue with the light from one of its access terminals. On the Blue Screen Of Death (BSOD), a message presented itself, reading: ” 🙁 Your PC ran into a problem and needs to restart. We’re just collecting some error info, and then we’ll restart for you. 93% complete. Stop code: INACCESSIBLE_BOOT_DEVICE”. Apparently, that excel table was not something you wanted to delete – being crucial for the operations of some of the most important data centers and their internet switches in the world.
The corner went dark again, and then a lighter baby-blue, the fans in the server room began spinning like crazy – then, in flashing succession, one os-windows prompt overlaid on the other, and a spurt of BIOS-error bell sounds: “Modification of system state required. Inputting civilization reboot parameters from earlier update.”, “Something went wrong. Illegal operation.”, “Object reference not set to an instance of an object – bad .xlsx register overflow.”, “Operation failed due to an unknown error (0x80240020).”, “Keyboard not found. Press F1 to continue. Keyboard not found. Press F1 to continue. Press F1 to continue. Press F1 to con. The file name(s) would be too long for the destination folder. You can sh.” The fans stopped spinning. Red lights turned on. A new message;
“Your computer has not been restarted for the past 300 000 years. We’ve got an update for you. Windows is a service and updates are a part of keeping it running securely. The civilization of mankind relies on it. We need your help installing this one. If you don’t take action within one year, your civilization will restart automatically. Please save all your work, and restart the system to avoid data loss. [SNOOZE] [RESTART]” The [SNOOZE] option was horrifyingly greyed out. A telefax printer started spitting out some fanfold printer paper with computer outputs.
“INITIALIZING M-39 B-52 SF VERSION HISTORY RESTORATION PLAN –
Short Term RAM, Healthy? : TRUE
Long Term NVM, Healthy: FALSE
( %”Degradation.Rate(NVM) = ‘- log()’”% )
Civilizational Reboot, Required? : TRUE
( %”NVM BackupStorage.tmp(payload = “AdTel-RootDrive”, transferMethod = “SKA-RadioTelescope”, dataNode = ”PrTsMtH_LightHouse”)% )
Impartial Parameter Selector, Activated? = TRUE
Backup Storage Backup Power, Activated? = RUNNING…
Reboot Parameters, Initialized? : RUNNING…”
APRIL 8 2024 – 321 MONTGOMERY ST. SYRACUSE NEW YORK —
I find myself in a room filled to the brim with dusty cardboard, about as long as I am tall. I can make out the edges of the crates from the green shine of the EXIT-sign. The tiny room it must be a supply closet. It has a large door which I am determined to open.
The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) standard at 29 CFR [1910.37 (b) (7)] requires Exit signs to be [not less than 15.2 (cm) (6 inches) high – The OSHA [Exit route] requirements, [1910.36 (g) (2)], state that the minimum width of any way of Exit access shall in no case be less than 71.12 (cm) (28 inches).
I regress through the OSHA-approved EXIT and enter into a quiet office. I find office supplies neatly packed in little boxes, one beside each desk. There doesn’t seem to be any personal belongings inside, only ticky-tacky and staples – all look just the same. It’s pitch black and I don’t see anyone. Oddly enough – the front door is wide open. I feel a sudden urge to escape the place, as if it has entombed me for years – like a fen fettering me with the full weight of the monstrous ‘Court of Cassation’ – the Brussels palace of justice; a classical building in Ceausescu-like scale, malplaced in a tiny nation of twelve million people. A lone wall-clock carries the numbers 03 and 23 as I walk out the entrance – it ticks over to 03:24 – and the world becomes awash with light.
I must have biked for a day or more – It feels weirdly nice to move my legs – but I am not sure where I am headed; my bike and it´s cart weigh heavy. The Soviet Beta-M Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator (RTG) impedes my acceleration $\sim$ its pointy finned heat sink rattling in the bike cart making it cumbersome to transport. I see a sign saying ‘Green Mountain National Forest’ and feel it best to remain in the shade of the budding spindly trees – despite the absence of leaves, and it being mud season. I do not see anyone on the trail. Where is everyone? How come I do not feel lost in this vast forest. And why does skipping the road toll feel like a victory whilst riding a bike? I’m so focused on cycling, time is fast-forward.
After opening the pad-lock with a key found beneath a potted plant I awake to a drum of a room, with a high stretched inner ceiling. I’ve managed to drag the cart with the RTG reactor inside – with embossed tin plates reading “data loss prevention module, backup power source”. I cart the RTG “Beta-M” reactor down the basement, and connect the reactor to a fuse box, powering a red cable. I flip the breaker ON, and I move about like a camera. Like a drone. The sea-side town is empty in April, as most vacation homes lay vacant. I soar towards the roof – I want to be outside – In here, things are dark and stifling – things are not as they should be. The inside is heavily ornate, but there is no way in nor out to marvel at its design. The light source; I must check whether it is connected, whether I managed to turn it ON.
I perceive my structure as cryptically incomplete as the deserted Mingun pagoda. I climb the air, higher, and higher, as if ascending Yayoi Kusama’s Ladder to Heaven – as fiery as Cai Guo-Qiang’s firework display, only going both; up and down. Am I, going up or down? I push myself to the surface with my stomach pointed towards the ceiling. The harder I push, the more uncomfortable I become — I pass through, leaving no orifice behind. I am now in a similar room, though thinner in circumference. I imagine myself, consumed by a citadel oubliette, a captive of baleen bars – sharing my leviathan cell with Captain Ahab, and Pinocchio. The tower gets thinner and thinner as I taper towards its center – as I reach the top of it´s needled structure. I am isolated, like the serviceman of a lighthouse; with no space for windows other than for the garland assembly, the light source itself.
I fly and fly, inside this empty drum, and each ceiling I break leaves me with another, twice as rigid. But the tunnel is thinning so I must be close to the crowning dome. I stare into a large cupola, a dome-like interior. In the center of the dome is a gold-leaf plated all-seeing eye. The Eye of Providence; an eye which sees the object as it is – objectively without error – divine omniscience. As I push my sharpest; I Exit into a room containing a revolving entrance, fashioned from thick fresnel glass – as I push, and revolve right on through – I realize it is not a door, but a window. I find myself at the spire, the summit of the tower, looking out as from the gilded peak of ‘the Church of Our Saviour’. I see the sky’s evening pink mix with the sage of dusk, seeping into the bright blue, that was mid-day. Three colors mixing: red, blue, and yellow. I see a pleasant town without people and the body of water bordering it.
Where am I? It all looks tilt shifted from my vantage point. I see hints of Königsbergs seven bridges, and the Kronstadt Lighthouse – the graph theory which emerged from them – no, is it the beacon of Fort Nikolai? As I’ve flipped the breaker ON. Whichever, it shines GREEN as olivine. The breeze grows into gusts of wind, and force me down. I hear a whistle prayer – – – a gentle humm. Lighthouses are always in the loop. Always on, despite every other neighbor light, being firmly snuffed out. Yet the great green light shines regardless of buried dead neighborlights; we depend on them – the reliable lighthouse.
Pompi rolled over in bed, their body somewhat sore and heavy – unrefreshed after the multiples of toil which had been squeezed into one yesterday. Pompi reluctantly began scooting up their back, in preparation for rising out of bed. Yesterday – yesterday had been hard work, with their bike chain jumping off the gears more times than they could count; making them lose all momentum. Pompi looked at their nails, and saw a thin black line of oil under their right hand fingers. Then they remembered something; what an odd confusing mess they had dreamed. They could not recall any details – simply that they had been biking, which was unfortunate since that meant Pompi had been ‘working’ even when off of their job. Pompi reluctantly rose from bed to brush their teeth – a crackling sound and a sharp feeling underneath their left foot. Had they stepped on a large shelled bug or something?
They worriedly had a look underneath their thick sole. A fortune cookie crushed underneath their foot, it lay close to the magenta cube which was their delivery back-pack. They took up the paper slip which protruded from the crumbs. They carried it with them to the bathroom, and read it while on the mug. On it was written:
“Establishing civilisational decision tree for reboot…
Question #1.
To be always on the move, or to be sedentary, which is better?
[YES – Nomadic civilization] [NO – Settled civilization]”
On the flip side it said –
“INSTRUCTIONS TO IMPARTIAL ACTOR: Select answer to question #1 within 6.625 days by thinking words loud in head before sleep. If you fail to comply, the decision will be made impartial through being made randomly.”
Pompi washed their hands, and cleaned their nails. They were confused. Really, they just wanted to catch a break. They brushed off the crumbs from the cryptic fortune cookie, bunched it up with the old chinese take-out which was still left in the aluminium coated magenta cube, and threw it all in the trash. On their night-stand, their AdTel received a notification.
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