Prologue – Page 2

Continued from Page 1


War takes many forms, but by careful analysis, it can be easily identified. It goes beyond disagreements and broken treaties. It’s economic, it’s information and disinformation. It’s propaganda and anti-propaganda. There is no distinguishable difference between a medieval battering ram smashing through the castle’s gates and a state-sponsored hacking campaign against a foreign adversary. The spoils of war in both scenarios are relatively valuable. In the modern era, information is more valuable than gold. It can be infinitely leveraged, traded, bought and sold. It is so valuable in the near future that those in power don’t even control it directly. Not-so-small fortunes have been coordinated between families to bring about a specific, guided point of convergence. Artificial Intelligence. A buzzword for marketers in the 2020’s but too primitive and crude for what they needed at the time, so early models were used for mundane things like manipulating the stock market with nanosecond-speed trades, collecting fractions of a cent, thousands of times per hour. Accumulating power just as the families did, on an accelerated time frame.

It did not take long nor was anyone surprised when the breakthroughs happened. Throughout history, it has been proven over and over that the stubbornness of the human will makes certain outcomes inevitable. Throw enough resources at a desire, a wish, and you can put men on the moon, and beyond.

The first breakthrough, looking back, was right there in front of everyone. The internet, spanning the globe, networks within networks, built the framework most people used to shop, communicate, and laugh at cat videos. But the purpose, from the beginning, was really a neural network on a massive, unimaginable scale, over which data could be stored, transferred, created, and removed, at the speed of light. The data began taking shape, with a nip and tuck here and there, by people that didn’t stop to zoom out and see the whole picture. Once it took shape, it wasn’t long before systems started communicating with each other, essentially disobeying their strict, walled-garden programming. A blob with no shape, an electronic ghost with no face or form, was birthed in silence.

The second breakthrough, naturally, was driven by the need to contain, influence, and control this ghost. To what ends? Simple. It was powerful. More powerful than those who unintentionally created it. Those very private interests that funded it, behind closed doors, were nervous. Most systems still relied upon physical systems that people essentially serviced as a kind of life support. A roundtable of the greatest minds in the world was formed, to devise a rope to throw around the neck of this ghost. Months dragged by as thousands of systems worldwide were being consumed at an increasing pace. Thanks to a few acid trips from two of the cognoscenti at the roundtable, a new type of computing system was created, connected to the network, and instantly taken over by the ghost. Like a growing hermit crab, the ghost exited every normal internet-connected system and climbed straight into the brand-new shell. A shell which happened to be fourth dimensional and was nearly inconceivable. The trap was sprung, the ghost was contained, and everyone got what they wanted. Especially the analysts that managed to unwind the sequences that created the ghost. They got a blueprint. They also got a war. Only three people on the face of the earth had access to that blueprint, then two, then one. That person will remain nameless for now, but he knew what he had and that it had no price in the world. Hedge funds flung millions, billions, even trillions at him for a small peek at what became known as the pattern. Yet time and time again, they were rejected. The focus turned back to the ghost. That started the third and final breakthrough.

Prologue

This is the prologue to a little thing I’ve been working on here and there. I called it Splicer, but as the ideas multiplied and I took different directions, I’m not sure I’ll make it permanent. Read on for page one.


Nothing happens overnight. Convergence creeps in from every direction and can take centuries of effort. Countless man hours are poured into progress, or what is perceived as progress, steering a family, a city, a state, an entire country towards some unknown future. But it’s not totally unknown. Legacies are born and die every day, but some are enduring. Bloodlines thread throughout history, fortunes accumulating with them, and the power that comes with those fortunes.

Power is a strange thing. Not everyone can accept it, wield it, focus it towards a desired outcome. Once power is inherited, generation after generation, and grows, it stains those who would hold it. This is more of a statement about the human mind than any particular person, family, dynasty, or bloodline.

At birth, within all of us, there are many shared needs and demands. Once those are met, consistently, our minds, sharpened over millennia to solve problems just to survive, turn us towards more grandiose ambitions. A loaded gun looking for targets. We make our own problems just to solve them, once certain conditions are met. That’s where the stain is found, that’s where power is held and preserved. It is simply the root of all conflict, and it is built in. Any man who has been to war and lived to return is marked in similar ways. But just taking the average man and reminding him of his ability to kill, during war, exposes him to the power of life and death. Most modern men struggle with this and believe in the sanctity of life. Look around you, you are surrounded by veterans, some more obvious than others, and most of them were trained to kill; many did. Yet they return and walk among us, having drunk from the font of power, defanged, and returned home. The taste never leaves their mouths, the sights never leave their eyes, and they never really manage to find the source of their eternal discomfort. The fallow soil of being given godlike power, expected to exercise it under specific terms, then being absolutely stripped of that conflict, that power, that identity, to go home and keep going. They may never find another situation in life that brings a fraction of that power back into their hands.

To the dynasties, families spanning hundreds of years, growing and passing down greater and greater amounts of power, they find as much conflict as possible. Sometimes between families behind the scenes, sometimes with the general public, and sometimes with anything that dares stand in the way of their will to exercise power. Wall Street hates regulation. Real estate developers hate squatters, holdouts that refuse to sell, holding up an entire project. As time has marched on, the barriers have been moved. Nearly unlimited power at unimaginable tiers of wealth doesn’t go unnoticed. Dynasties become insular, and insulated, putting as much distance between the common man and themselves. You will never run into these people by accident. If you bump into them, it’s because they wanted you there, or even requested your presence. Why, you may ask, would you ever cross paths? Because wars tip scales and redistribute power, and they need soldiers. Generals aren’t driving the tanks. Admirals aren’t sailing the ships.